An Angel in the Darkness
by annaamelie
Summary: Widowmaker, the ideal Talon master assassin, has to come face to face with her internal perils and navigate through a dangerous world after finding love in an unlikely place. Widowmaker x Mercy fanfic.
1. Chapter 1- Recall

"Bourbon? Wine? Soda? Perhaps some LaCroix?" the waiter asked, peering over his glasses.

Decisions, decisions.

"LaCroix, please," Angela Ziegler said, reading over the menu for the eleventh time. She was in the mood for some alcohol, yet she refrained. Alcohol wasn't going to do her any good in this situation.

"LaCroix. Good choice, ma'am," the waiter said, walking away.

Angela Ziegler, better known by her callsign Mercy, was waiting for a certain person to discuss pressing matters. She hadn't had a break since Winston activated the recall.

"Hey, Angela!" an all too familiar voice laughed, sitting in the leather seat across from Mercy. "You're back in Great Britain!"

"Lena," Angela said rather endearingly, getting up to hug Tracer.

Mercy, for the past year, had been volunteering in several human and omnic rights associations, heading the medical teams and providing support in dire situations. She had only been in King's Row for a little over two weeks, yet King's Row was more riddled up with violence than anywhere else Mercy had been in the past few months. It was rapidly becoming a war zone. Omnics were killed left and right. Human casualties were slowly progressing. Politicians were corrupt. Terrorists were prowling, waiting for the perfect opportunity to create chaos.

"Water, please," Lena said to the waiter. "And a dessert menu."

"You're still... you," Mercy said, watching Lena engulf an appetizer that was brought out. "How are you?"

"I'm fine. And you?"

"Could be better."

"Thinking about Overwatch?" Lena asked, reaching for a napkin. "Are you joining again?"

"Cutting straight to the chase now, aren't we?"

"I know how you feel about Overwatch reactivating. I was doubtful about joining Overwatch again. Ya know, ever since the scandals. But, Angela. The world needs us now, more than ever. You of all people should know that," Tracer said.

"Recalling us was an abrupt thing to do on Winston's part," Angela sighed, wishing she had gone with an alcoholic drink. "I don't know how I feel about Overwatch reactivating again. Overwatch may very well be riddled with corruption. And you know how I feel about Overwatch's... approach to things. But, I know I would be saving more lives under Overwatch's command. It's my chance to make an impact."

"Ya gotta pick what's best for everybody that needs help. Even if it means you have to work with an evil. Speaking of, guess who showed up from the grave?"

"Morrison," Mercy whispered. "Old man had me fooled."

"I mourned him, I truly did." Lena replied, finishing her glass of water. "Like he always said. Old soldiers never die. Whatever your decision, Ziegler, I'll support you one hundred percent."

The pair ate in complete silence. Tracer knew that Angela was contriving her next words carefully.

"I think it's time for me to put my Valkyrie suit back on. I can't let my viewpoints get in the way of my goals. Joining Overwatch would grant me the opportunity to save lives beyond what I'm doing right now."

Tracer smiled, paying her tab. "There's the Angela I know! Always so ambitious." All of a sudden, Tracer flashed her signature smirk. "Have you gotten in contact with Genji? I heard he's returning to Overwatch!"

Mercy turned red. "N-no. I haven't seen him in months."

"You should give him a chance!"

Mercy didn't understand why anyone would be interested in her. She didn't believe she was anything special. "He's not interested in me. Genji's, like, my brother. We're just friends-"

"-With benefits!"

"Lena!"

The moonlight gave off a luminescent glow, obscuring the shadows of the night. The towering trees cowered over the ground. The eerie silence was enough to drive a normal person to insanity.

Widowmaker was not a normal person. She preferred the silence, the thrill of the unknown, the emptiness in the atmosphere. She fully accepted the sharp, uncomfortable feeling in the back of her head. It was always there.

She scoped in, peering into the office building. A frail, pale man was typing on a laptop, completely oblivious to his untimely demise.

"Perfect," Widowmaker whispered, lining up a clean shot. The ticking of time slowed. Her breaths became shallow and light. Her clean slate of mind concentrated on one objective and one objective only: to secure the kill.

Widowmaker's little ritual was interrupted by the sound of her earpiece beeping.

"Agent Lacroix."

Widowmaker lowered her infamous Widow's Kiss, letting out a sigh of annoyance. "Quoi? Make it fast."

"You are to go to the location sent to you. There, you will await further instructions."

Without batting an eye, Widowmaker whipped out her rifle and shot the man.

She memorized the coordinates of her location and determined that it would take approximately one hour before she arrived at her destination. Perfect.

Widowmaker gracefully hopped from one building to another, balancing her rifle in her right arm. She always thought about her next move. She never lamented over the past. Once an uncomfortable thought formed in her head, she crushed it. She simply did what she was told and would make it her primary objective to only think about her goals. It kept her mind off of things. Off of herself.

Widowmaker peered around her. This was the location. She was on top of a crumbling building, and the smell of mold filled Widowmaker's nose. A decaying carcass stood at Widowmaker's feet. She kicked it off the building in disgust.

A Talon freighter revealed itself, dispatching the ramp so Widowmaker could enter the advanced aircraft.

Widowmaker took off her visor, revealing her face to the Talon operatives sitting at a desk. Although they were higher in rank than Widowmaker, she still intimidated the men and barked orders when necessary.

Widowmaker sat down in a vacant armchair, placing her rifle at her feet. "Well, well. We've been expecting you," an unnamed operative said. He was a thick, burly man, wearing sunglasses so as to obscure his eyes.

Widowmaker rolled her eyes. "Really?" she said, sarcasm rolling off her tongue.

The operative ignored her comment and adjusted himself in his seat. "You will be accompanying Reaper and several soldiers on a mission. Since Overwatch is now reestablished, we thought we could send them a warm welcome back."

Widowmaker smirked. She liked where this was going.

"Overwatch's new base of operations is located in Los Angeles, California. You will slip into into the secured main office and steal information regarding future Overwatch prospects. Reaper and his gang of henchmen will provide a distraction and execute as many people as possible. Creates shock value." The words that came out of this operative's mouth were short, sweet, and to the point- the way Widow preferred it. No additional information, not a lot of explanation.

"I'm not invited to the massacre? What a pity," Widowmaker said, sending shivers down the operatives' spines. No matter. As long as she got the job done, she was satisfied.


	2. Chapter 2- Captured

Angela and Lena entered the beautiful hotel, each dragging a hefty suitcase. The hotel was paid for by Overwatch. They decided to share a room while they went to Los Angeles to attend a panel in the new Overwatch headquarters.

The two women entered their room. Crystal chandeliers dangled from the high ceilings. A spiral staircase sat in the middle of the room, leading to a library.

"Wow! This is too much," Angela said in awe, tracing her fingers over the intricate designs on the walls.

"Come on, Angela. Wouldn't wanna be the only ones that showed up late to the panel."

Widowmaker, Reaper, and the other Talon soldiers hid on the rooftop of a nearby building, waiting to receive the go ahead signal. Widowmaker patiently stood next to Reaper, peering at the headquarters with her scope.

"Go in whenever you're ready, Reaper. Widowmaker, hold the perimeter," an operative silently stated through their coms.

Widowmaker and Reaper nodded in each other's general direction before Reaper faded out, his men following behind him.

Mercy and Lena were inside the building, enjoying the complimentary water before the program started. How soon their parade would crash.

"Mercy? It's an honor to meet you. I've heard many positive things about your work here in the medical field," a man said, shaking Mercy's hand.

It was Tracer who first noticed the unusual men storming through the entrance. The men wore heavily cladded boots and carried rifles in their hands. They didn't look like the guards she had seen roaming the outskirts of the facility. How did they enter the building with weapons? Tracer's pistols had been confiscated before she even looked at the premises.

One of the men looked in Tracer's general direction, noticing her distrusting glances. They mumbled something amongst themselves, before pointing the rifle at the man talking to Angela. Tracer's instincts immediately took over.

"Shit, Angela! Watch-"

The man Angela was talking to grunted in pain as he was showered in bullets. Tracer grabbed onto Angela and furiously blinked behind a wall parallel to her. Humans and omnics feverishly panicked, attempting to run away from the uniformed men. Several omnics around Lena dropped to the floor as they were hit. Screams echoed throughout the vast corridor. Lena saw a wisp of black smoke glide through the air. Reaper.

Tracer motioned for Mercy to run into a secure hall, where the pair would be shielded by the chaos brewing throughout the rest of the facility.

Widowmaker was in the tallest story, yet she could still hear the muffled screams underneath her. As planned, she had entered the facility without anyone noticing. She looked up at the cameras peering at her from the ceilings, meaning that this was a time based effort. She would be caught any minute now. Widowmaker had already visualized the entrances and exits of the facility. All she had to do now was locate that file in Morrison's office.

Widowmaker approached the door. Not surprisingly, it was locked. It took Widow approximately two seconds to open the door before she ransacked the computer.

Jack Morrison rampaged around the facility, ordering backup to combat the Talon soldiers. Sirens urged panicked people to walk to a designated safe location. Paper flew everywhere. The entire building was on lockdown. Tracer and Mercy were safely escorted to the other end of the building by none other than Genji Shimada, whom was also attending the panel.

Genji, Tracer, and Mercy hurriedly walked next to the man, waiting to receive orders. Jack finally spoke.

"What are the orders, Commander?" Tracer finally asked.

Jack Morrison stopped walking, before facing Genji and Tracer behind him. "You two. Make sure all the remaining levels are clear of any danger. Ziegler, we have people in need of immediate medical attention. You're coming with me." Morrison stormed off, barking orders left and right.

"Do you have the information?" Reaper asked Widowmaker, appearing before the assassin.

"It's all on here," Widowmaker said, walking down the corridor with Reaper. She placed a flash drive in Reaper's hands before the apparatus disappeared. The information would be safer with him.

"Proceeding to leave the premises," Reaper said. "Escorting the objective."

Widowmaker looked all around her. The silence upstairs was deafening. "By now, I should have been noticed. We have to-"

Widowmaker heard the distinct sound of something cutting sharply through air. She ducked just in time for the shuriken to narrowly miss her head and hit the wall in front of her. Guns immediately appeared in Reaper's hands.

Tracer blinked in front of the pair. "Fancy meeting you here!"

Widowmaker's automatic assault rifle sent bullets through the air, each missing the blinking British hero. She absolutely despised Tracer's snarky remarks.

"Let's go!" Reaper urgently commanded. Widowmaker knew that engaging in battle would be an unwise idea. Tracer and Genji surrounded the pair, not daring to make a move.

Widowmaker looked up at the glass ceiling, before momentarily shooting the roof. Shards of glass rained on everyone.

Reaper took the opportunity to fade away, leaving Widow to fend for herself. She attempted to grapple onto the high ceiling, but Genji moved quicker. He dashed towards Widowmaker and used his blade to slice the grappling hook rope in half. Widow fell to the ground, but she rapidly got up. Genji swiftly moved his head away from Widowmaker's spinning kick. In a desperate attempt, Widowmaker aimed for Genji's nether regions, which surprisingly landed. Genji groaned in pain and went to his knees temporarily, grabbing his crotch. This bitch kicked harder than a fucking bull.

Tracer took the chance to shoot at Widowmaker. Widowmaker transitioned into a backward somersault, before running towards an emergency exit.

Now, Genji was beginning to get livid. He got up and limped through the pain, pulling out his swords. Breathe. Relax.

Widowmaker threw a purple venom mine in Genji's direction, which he deflected. The purple gas engulfed Widowmaker, causing her to cough violently. Widow closed her eyes and fell to the ground. She forgot how painful the venom mine's gas truly was. Genji waited until most of the gas cleared before going after the assassin. Widowmaker took action, barrel rolling away from Genji and swiftly kicking his legs out from underneath him. Tracer maneuvered her way behind Widowmaker, placing handcuffs on her slender wrists. Genji was on top of her, holding her in place. She made weak attempts to kick off the Overwatch agents and run. Widowmaker, realizing there was no getting out of her situation, lied on the ground, defeated.

"Morrison!" Tracer yelled through her earpiece, "We have Talon agent Widowmaker in our custody."

"Lacroix," Morrison grumbled. "Stay up there until I can provide backup. Good work, agents."

"Tracer. You were actually useful for once," Widowmaker said, devoid of any bitterness or emotion.

"Save it, Widow."

Tracer read the headlines of the online newspaper, her guts twisting up in a tight knot.

"27 injured in latest attack!"

"The latest coverage on the Los Angeles Attack!"

"Overwatch Reactivates: Is it Still Worth It?"

"You should stop reading those articles," Mercy said, pulling Tracer into a tight hug.

Mercy and Tracer were worn out. The media cowered over the Overwatch members like scavengers cowering over their dead prey. Yet, one tiny, little detail was kept out of the public eye.

Widowmaker's capture.

The pair were currently in the Overwatch headquarters. Talon had hoped the attack would discourage people from joining Overwatch. Interestingly, the attack only urged more Overwatch members to attend the still ongoing panel. Now, more than ever, Overwatch was compelled to preserve the peace and protect the world.

The women were getting ready to leave the heavily guarded panel when Morrison approached them.

"Ziegler," Jack said, semi jogging towards the doctor. "Can you stick around for a little bit?"

"I'll catch up with you later," Mercy told Tracer. Tracer reluctantly left the scene.

"Why don't we go up to my office to discuss matters, now?" Jack said, hinting that he was going to discuss something important.

Morrison beckoned for Mercy to sit in a chair across from his. Jack heaved a sigh and grunted as he sat, and Mercy realized just how aged he has gotten. How worn down from life he was.

"Be honest. Did Lena tell you who we captured?" Morrison asked.

"Captured? No."

"Good. I told her not to. Only a select few people know that Widowmaker, Talon's master assassin, is under our custody. We need you to perform routine physical and psychological examinations on Widowmaker. Find out the true extent of her alterations," he said, leaning back against his seat. "Hopefully, we can learn more about Talon's science branch, as well as boost our own knowledge of the human body. You start tomorrow."

The mere thought of being in the presence of Widowmaker made Mercy scream on the inside. Everyone knows the things she is capable of doing, the atrocities she already committed. Mercy couldn't tell you how many times she had evaluated her victims, each bullet cutting clean and sharp into the temple of their head. Yet, Mercy was interested. Only a select few Overwatch agents have actually seen her, and most of them don't live to tell the tale. The ones who live describe her as icy, her skin unusually pigmented blue. Lena had no problem admitting that Widow was as beautiful as she was deadly. This would be an interesting task.

"I composed a file of information that we know about her. You can read over it, if you like. I don't care," Morrison said.

Angela took the file and scanned its short contents. There wasn't much they knew about Widowmaker. Yet, there was something that caught Angela's eye. She hadn't seen the name in ages.

Amélie Lacroix. The assumption that Amélie was killed years ago quickly shattered and divided like broken glass. Widowmaker was Amélie Lacroix?

"It came off as a shock to me also," Morrison said, reading Angela's mind. "We're going to press her for answers."

"When do you want me to perform the first physical evaluation?" Mercy asked, secretly eager to discover what alterations were made to the assassin's physical structure.

Morrison opened the door for Mercy. "Your first meeting with Widowmaker is tomorrow, same time. Remember, this conversation does not leave this office."

"Understood."

"What did Morrison want to talk to you about?" Tracer asked, unpacking her belongings in her assigned barrack. Mercy and Tracer had agreed to operate out of Los Angeles for the remainder of the year. Tracer was more than excited about being an active Overwatch agent again. Mercy was just glad she would be able to reach more people in need through her position as the head of the medical field.

Mercy wasn't a great liar. "We were just talking about matters within the medical field."

"Genji is operating in Los Angeles. He said he really wants to meet with you and talk some day."

"That'll... be nice. I'll consider it," Angela said. She was already running low on energy, but Morrison's "news" just about sucked the life out of her.

"I'm going to my room. Sleep well, Lena," Angela said, leaving the barrack. She would have never guessed how the events of the next day would unfold.


	3. Chapter 3- Eyes

_Annecy, France. Some time ago._

Angela entered the formal dining hall, wearing a satin red dress and black heels. Important political figures, celebrities, and influential members of Overwatch gathered at the party. The posh event was held in honor of Overwatch's accomplishments as a peacekeeping organization.

"You look lovely."

Mercy turned around and smiled at Ana Amari. "As do you, Ana. Congratulations on being honored by the UN. That is quite a marvelous accomplishment."

"Thank you for the kind words, Angela."

The soft murmur of conversation came to an abrupt halt. All heads turned when a beautiful woman in her twenties gracefully walked into the room. She was tall and fair skinned, her cheeks a lovely shade of rose. Her long, black hair flowed down to her waist. Her curious, childish eyes contrasted her elegant, luxurious demeanor. Her cold shoulder dress wrapped perfectly around her body, showing off her curves. She walked with confidence, arm in arm with a handsome man named Gérard.

"Lovely seeing you two here tonight," Gérard said, walking towards Ana and Angela. The woman silently followed him. Mercy couldn't stop staring at her.

Amélie noticed Angela's subtle glances and smiled warmly at her. Angela cleared her throat. "A pleasure."

"You have beautiful eyes," Amélie said to Mercy, her French accent prominent in her speech. Her voice was truly unique.

Angela warmly smiled at Amélie, flattered by the compliment. "As do you."

"Well, we must greet other guests. Au revoir, ladies."

Amélie flashed a gorgeous smile in the ladies' direction before walking off with Gérard.

Mercy continued on with her conversation with Ana, taking a seat in the dining room. Yet, she couldn't get her mind off of Gérard's mysteriously charming wife. Mercy's subtle glances towards Gérard's wife's general direction didn't go unnoticed by Ana Amari. They were currently sitting down at a dining table, silently sipping glasses of savory French wine.

"-And we haven't gone back since!" Ana exclaimed. Mercy took no notice of Ana's remark.

"Angela?" Ana vocalized. "Is there something over there that is preoccupying your mind right now?"

Mercy didn't respond. Gérard's wife now made full eye contact with her. Within a second, Amélie excused herself from the group and began walking towards Angela and Ana.

Angela quickly looked back at Ana. "What was that, Ana? I'm sorry."

"Bonjour," Amélie said, grasping the chair next to Mercy. "May I sit here very quick?"

"Please do," Ana said, getting up from her own seat. "Excuse me, ladies."

Angela and Amélie were left by themselves. Angela nervously fiddled with her hair, awkwardly smiling in Amélie's direction.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" Amélie finally asked.

"Yes, thank you," Mercy smiled. "Gérard is a wonderful man. He's well spoken and intelligent. Firm, yet gentle. It's an honor to work with him."

"I'm head over heels in love with him," Amélie said, flashing her toothy grin.

"Well, Gérard must be a very lucky man to love someone like you."

"Thank you," Amélie said. "You're very kind. Well, I'm sorry to have taken up your time. Goodbye."

"Wait! We never exchanged names," Angela exclaimed. But, Amélie already vanished amidst the crowd of guests.

* * *

Mercy woke up and sat up straight from her bed, the memory fresh in her mind. Mercy stayed in her bed for a few minutes before summoning the energy to sit up and get ready for Widowmaker's evaluation.

Mercy adjusted her reading glasses and took out Widowmaker's file. There was hardly anything about Widowmaker, except for possibly inaccurate stats. There were several presumptions, such as the presumption that Widowmaker had been subjected to selective memory conditioning. It was unknown how long she had worked for Talon prior to Gérard's death. Yet, Mercy felt that she knew the answer. And she was correct. Widowmaker had been programmed as a sleeper agent when she was first kidnapped by Talon.

Mercy beckoned for the guards to stay outside of the cell room. Mercy was more than nervous for Amélie's evaluation. Questions absolutely burned Mercy's mind.

Mercy punched in the four digit passcode Morrison had given her. She walked into the room, not knowing what to expect. Mercy peered in the blank room before fixating her eyes on a certain someone. Widowmaker sat on a metal chair, her arms handcuffed behind her back. Her legs had heavy chains on them, preventing most movement. Widowmaker stared blankly at Angela, not even blinking as Mercy stepped towards her. Widow turned her attention elsewhere, now hardly acknowledging Mercy's presence.

"Widowmaker," Angela said, adjusting her stethoscope.

"Mercy," Widowmaker said, lowering her tone. "I know who you are."

Mercy shuddered. Widowmaker continued. "Talon has been keeping an eye on you, doctor. A very keen eye on you."

Mercy's heart practically dropped from her chest. Widow enjoyed the look of fear that flashed across Mercy's face. She simply smirked.

Mercy cleared her throat. "Amélie Lacroix. Is that your real name?"

No answer.

"You're a Talon agent, known almost exclusively for assassinating those deemed enemies of Talon, correct?"

No answer.

"You're responsible for the deaths of an estimated 235 since you've joined Talon."

"What a low estimate. Doctor, why are you here?" Widowmaker questioned.

"I'm supposed to be the one interrogating you, Lacroix."

Widowmaker chuckled deeply.

"Let's get to know each other a little better." Angela always wanted to make sure her patient was comfortable with her, even though it was unrealistic in this case.

"What is this, a date?"

"I'll start. I'm Doctor Angela Ziegler, the Overwatch Head of Medical Research. I attended university and earned my MD and PhD in Switzerland."

"Well, I'd hope you attended university," Widow remarked. "My turn. I'm Widowmaker. And I'm going to murder every single one of you when I get out of here."

Mercy sighed. She was getting absolutely nowhere. "Can you tell me what you know about your… alterations?" Mercy asked, digging her nails into her clipboard.

"I see," Widowmaker hummed, her voice noticeably lighter. "If I tell you, will you let me go?"

Mercy grew uncomfortable. "Well, not necessarily..."

"Hmph. Well, you're barking up the wrong tree. I know nothing of my alterations," Widowmaker stated, her French accent rolling off her tongue like silk.

"I'll find out the full extent of your alterations regardless of what you tell me," Mercy said, now tapping her nails against the clipboard.

"Artificially reduced heart rate. Cryogenic alterations. Natural eyes replaced with bionic eyes. Enhanced senses. Suppressed emotions. Adjusted metabolism. I can write you a full list, doctor."

The mocking tone in Widow's voice made Angela wince. She scribbled notes down before placing the clipboard on the ground. "I'm going to ask you basic questions regarding your health. Afterwards, I'll check your blood pressure and pulse." Mercy began to place the sphygmomanometer around Widow's arm. Widow violently flinched, tensing up as Mercy gently placed the device around her arm.

Mercy was taken aback by the reaction. She immediately took the cuff off. "Are you okay?"

No answer.

"I'm going to check your vitals momentarily. I have to touch you in order to do that. Are you fine with being touched?"

Widowmaker slowly nodded. She would never admit it, but physical examinations always made her uncomfortable. She always pretended that she was unaffected by them, but the subtle discontent was always there. She blamed herself for that. "Just do what you have to do."

Mercy wasn't stupid. There was a reason Widow reacted negatively to the touch. "Talon performs physical evaluations on you, yes?"

"Just do what you have to do," Widow repeated.

Mercy reluctantly gave into Widow's request. "Do you take any medicines or supplements?"

"Oui. They're in the bag you people confiscated."

"You are permitted to take them accordingly until we can find out what they exactly are." Mercy increased the pressure of the cuff. "Do you have any existing or preexisting medical conditions?"

Widow felt as if her arm would fall off at any moment now. "Non."

"Have you been in any pain recently?"

"Non."

"Good. I'm going to listen to your heart now with a stethoscope."

Mercy grabbed her stethoscope and slowly placed the cold metal to Widow's chest. Unlike most patients, Widow didn't react to the icy metal against her bare skin.

Mercy couldn't hear it at first. But when she did, she was absolutely baffled. She placed two fingers against Widow's neck, shocked at how cold her skin was. Widowmaker had a resting heart rate at an extraordinary 20 bpm. "With a heartbeat this slow, you should be dead," Mercy said, still listening to the heartbeat in awe. She would most likely never have a medical encounter like this ever again.

"Talon made it happen. Are you finished?" Widow said hastily.

"I still have to check your body temperature." Widowmaker refused to open her mouth for the thermometer.

"That's fine," Mercy said, taking out a different thermometer that could determine body temperature by simply placing your hand on the device. Widowmaker sighed as Mercy placed the thermometer's touch pad against Widow's tied hand.

"Your body temperature is approximately 15 degrees Celsius," Mercy said, checking her notes. Now, more than ever, she wanted to conduct more research to find out the true extent of her alterations. It was rare to view Talon technology up close.

As for analyzing Widowmaker's psychological state... that was uncharted territory for Mercy. She was not an expert on psychology, but it was a challenge she was more than willing to take on. "Interesting. Until next time," Mercy said, walking towards the exit.

"Next time?"

"Over the next few months, I will be assessing your psychological and physical states in order to gain insight on Talon's medical and technological advancements. We are going to be spending a lot of time together, Lacroix."

Widowmaker allowed an audible groan to escape her lips. Mercy didn't look back at Widow as she exited the room.

* * *

"And she gave me a ring, too! How wonderful is that?" Tracer asked. Mercy stared off into the distance, silently sipping on her morning coffee.

"Luv? Everything a'right with ya?" Tracer said, waving her hand in Angela's face.

"I'm sorry, Lena. There are a few things that are preoccupying my mind right now."

"Morrison filled me in on a few details about your 'special assignment'," Tracer said, sipping her morning tea. "I'm supposed to guard her cell every now and then. Be careful with her, luv. I take her as the manipulative type, the type that will say and do anything in order to gain some sorta advantage. Got a sharp tongue, too."

"I've noticed," Mercy said. "Well, I must go and meet with the person in question herself. I will see you around, Lena."

Mercy made her way to Widowmaker's prison cell, located in the furthest, most desolate corner of the headquarters. The guards opened the door for Mercy.

Widowmaker was strapped to the chair, hardly giving Mercy attention. Another chair was positioned across from Widowmaker upon Mercy's request.

"What's on your mind?" Mercy asked, sitting down in her chair.

"Absolutely nothing," Widowmaker icily stated.

"Have you ever been subjected to selective memory conditioning?" Mercy asked. No answer.

"I'm curious. Your report says you are devoid of any emotion whatsoever. You show neither remorse nor sympathy? How do you detach yourself from your emotions?"

"Wouldn't you love to know?"

Of course it wouldn't be this easy. Angela sighed. "I'll stay here and wait until you give me answers," Mercy said, tapping her feet against the floor.

"You have patience," Widow said. "But not as much as me."

"Have you had anything to eat or drink since you've arrived?"

"Non."

It had been four days since Widowmaker was captured. Mercy took out an apple and a bottle of water.

Widow snorted. "What are you going to do, feed me?"

Mercy walked behind Widowmaker, the rhythmic click of her heels echoing throughout the vast room. Mercy undid Widow's bonds. Even though her legs were still tied down, Widowmaker immediately calculated her chances of successfully rushing Mercy.

"I assume that you know better than to try anything." Mercy said, not liking the expression plastered on Widow's face. Mercy knew that she shouldn't undo Widowmaker's bonds. Yet, it felt somewhat cruel to restrict Widow's movement so severely. It didn't sit well with Mercy.

Widow took the apple from Mercy's hand. Widowmaker simply stared at it, as if the apple was some foreign substance.

"It's an apple. You eat it for nourishment," Mercy dryly remarked.

Widowmaker gave Mercy a disdainful look before biting into the red fruit.

"Do you go long periods of time without consuming anything?" Mercy asked.

"Why don't you find out? In fact, why don't you people cut me open right now? I'm just Overwatch's little medical anomaly, after all. Nothing more, nothing less."

Was Widowmaker implying that Overwatch didn't regard her as a human being? Angela was not having it.

"I'm not denying that you are a medical marvel. But, we will always regard you as a human. You best remember that, Ms. Lacroix."

"Ha. You people didn't even feed me for four days."

Angela felt like a walking hypocrite. "I will discuss that with my superior. That is completely unacceptable."

To be honest, Widowmaker's stay at Overwatch wasn't half as bad as she initially thought it would be, apart from the lack of food. Her cell looked more like an office, with subtle orange walls and adequate lighting. She was given a spacious, comfortable space and was free to roam around whenever she liked, except when Angela paid her visits.

Mercy scribbled something down on her notepad. "Anyways. I'm interested in your psychological state. You seem to have behavioral traits characteristic of... well-"

"Sociopaths?"

Mercy paused. "Yes. You have behavioral traits consistent with psychopathy and sociopathy." Angela leaned in. "I would like to run brain scans in order to gain more insight on your neurological state."

"Frankly, I don't want to hear what you people would like to do to me," Widowmaker said almost bitterly, holding up the apple core for Mercy to take. "Just remember that I won't take any orders from you."

That was the thing about Widowmaker. She was unwaveringly loyal to Talon, and to Talon only. Anyone not affiliated with her organization was as dispensable as gum wrapper.

"I understand," Angela said, not wanting to dwell on the topic more than necessary.

Angela retied Widow's arms behind her back without much resistance. Mainly because Widow knew that it would be pointless to do so.

A loud knock interrupted their thoughts. "Come in," Mercy shouted.

"Commander Morrison wants you at his personal office when you're available," one of the young guards said, making little eye contact with Mercy.

"Thank you for informing me," Mercy smiled weakly and looked at the door, thus dismissing the guards.

Mercy stared back at Widowmaker. Widow's gaze wasn't exactly murderous. Yet, it still left Mercy feeling uneasy, as if Widow would stab her should Mercy divert her attention elsewhere for even two seconds.

Within a fraction of a second, Widow's deadly expression changed. "You have beautiful eyes," she said.

Mercy felt as if her heart would stop at any minute. "As do you." The questions silently gnawing at Mercy's insides became increasingly rampant. "You remember me from all those years ago?"

A look of amusement flashed across Widow's eyes. "I'm sorry. I don't know what you're talking about."

"Bullshit!" Angela exclaimed, immediately gasping and covering her mouth after saying it. She didn't know what overcame her.

"I didn't know the good doctor had such a mouth," Widowmaker purred.

"I'm sorry, I just- I know-" Mercy sat back down, covering her face with her hands.

"You knew Amélie," Widowmaker stated matter of factly.

"You speak as if 'Amélie' is a different person."

Widow looked down at the floor. "It's complicated." Uncomfortable thoughts, memories, were surfacing. "How did you know Amélie?"

The look on Widowmaker's face led Angela to believe that Widow truly had no idea what Angela was talking about.

Mercy paused. "How much do you remember about your past?"

"Not enough," Widow snorted.

Widowmaker's reports appeared to be true. Widowmaker did indeed go under selective memory reconditioning, in which Talon picked and chose the memories Widow retained.

"You truly don't remember me," Angela said, her glimpse of hope that Widowmaker would remember her shattered and divided like millions of glass fragments. "We met at a party Gérard was hosting a long time ago."

Gérard. Widow winced at the mention of the name.

"You know things about my past that I don't," Widowmaker stated explicitly. "I don't like that one bit."

"I believe that is a discussion for another day, Ms. Lacroix."

Widow clenched her fists, passively cracking her fingers. A part of her saw no point in persisting the doctor; Angela would do as she pleased regardless of what Widow said.

Another part of Widow was contriving her next words carefully, seeing if she could get Angela to reveal the information. "Gérard. Hm." Widowmaker looked ahead. "I do remember him."

Angela said nothing. Talking about Gérard was uncharted territory that Angela had no intention of crossing. The incident was still taboo to her.

Up until a few days ago, Widow had no problem with her fragmented knowledge of her past. Now that she thought about it, not knowing certain fragments of her past was nothing short of annoying.

Gérard. For some reason, the mention of his name made her insides flutter. The mention of his name elicited the closest thing to emotion she experienced. No matter how hard she tried, and no matter how much mental reconditioning she underwent, she couldn't bring herself to forget the love of her life. Widowmaker even went to his grave on Christmas Eve because she so desperately wanted to remember everything, so desperately wanted to understand why she was feeling something.

"Ms. Lacroix?" Mercy asked, slightly waving her hand in Widowmaker's face.

"Hm? What was that?"

"I was just saying that I will be seeing you tomorrow at the same time. Goodbye, Ms. Lacroix."

"We aren't finished," Widowmaker stated very calmly. Yet, it was stated with such intent and seething danger that it forced Mercy to sit immediately back down, despite the fact that she was physically in control.

"What kind of person was he?" Widow questioned. Widowmaker wanted to hear someone else's perspective on him. She needed insight, comfort.

Mercy knew that she didn't have to answer. Yet, there was something so desperate and longing in Widow's amber eyes. Angela tried to imagine herself in Widow's position. How does it feel knowing others know more about you than you know about yourself? "He was a staunch man, a real man. Compassionate, yet hard when he needed to be." Mercy paused. "He loved you very much."

Widowmaker's heart dropped. Why did that hurt?

A dull pain forced Widow to snap back into her own twisted version of reality. Her purpose in life was serving Talon. Why was she pondering over the dead? Yet, the facade she had invented for herself had been inevitably crumbling down as she delved deeper into her past. Widowmaker didn't want to admit that she didn't know where her loyalty lied anymore.

"Until tomorrow, Ms. Lacroix," Mercy said, quickly getting up from the seat and exiting the room.

* * *

"Your treatment of Widowmaker is horrid. She hasn't had food nor water in her cell," Mercy stated rather calmly. Yet, Jack Morrison could see her seething with rage. "Remember that she's still a human."

"I'll immediately talk to the guards about the lack of basic living accommodations," Jack grumbled, plopping down on his leather seat. "While you're here, there's something regarding Agent Widowmaker that I would like to discuss with you."

Morrison fumbled with some keys that he set on the desk until he found a specific one for his cabinet. He took out a slim file and handed it to Mercy. "You're going to be spending a large majority of your time with her. I figured that I'd have you find out information regarding her mission details, as well as gain insight on Talon and their future operations."

"You want me to interrogate Widowmaker?" Mercy incredulously asked, incredibly amused.

"It's technically not an interrogation," Morrison said, leaning in closer to Mercy. "Listen. You're not going to ask her these questions up front. She wasn't born yesterday. You have to get Widowmaker to willingly tell you information you would like to receive."

"And how am I supposed to-"

"Gradually gain her trust. If she's sees that you pose no threat, then she'll subconsciously disclose the information we are seeking. I'm sure you can do it, Ziegler. All the information I want you to find out is in this file. I wrote down several non-straightforward interrogation techniques that you can use in order to receive information. I expect a report every two weeks of your medical and classified findings. You are not permitted to disclose this information with anyone."

Mercy shuddered. How in the world was she supposed to gain that woman's trust?


	4. Chapter 4- Beginnings

_Paris, France. Some time ago._

Amélie bowed as the entire hall gave her a heartfelt encore.

"Beautiful performance," Angela said, biting her lower lip as she stood behind the stage curtains. "Although I know nothing about ballet."

"It's often a misunderstood art form..." Amélie said, undoing her bun. "But I'm glad you enjoyed it. And it's so wonderful to see you again."

Mercy adjusted her glasses. "Your husband invited me to view your performance, since I'm in the area for two more days. I hope you don't mind."

Amélie smiled. "Not at all, Angela." She began to untie her laces. "Are you doing anything after this?"

"Apart from going to my hotel room, not necessarily. Why do you ask?"

"I was wondering if you would like to have some fun."

"Tempting. What kind of fun?"

* * *

"Where are you two heading to?" Gérard asked as Amélie rushed to put on her heels and jacket backstage.

"I'm taking Ziegler out on a date. Hope you're not jealous." Amélie winked and blew a kiss in his direction. Mercy smiled as she witnessed the interaction.

Gérard smirked. "And how am I supposed to get home, mon Amé?"

"I don't see how that's my problem."

"Angela, please keep an eye on this one," Gérard said, crossing his arms. "She's a different breed of crazy."

Amélie grabbed her keys from her pocket and guided Angela over to a rather expensive black van.

Angela could see why everyone who knew Amélie had a strange attraction towards her. Angela felt as if they had been acquainted since the dawn of time, although it had been much shorter than that.

"It's the best nightclub in Paris," Amélie said, pulling up to a parking spot.

"Club?" Mercy was not expecting this. She looked down at her attire. "I think I'm underdressed..."

"You'll like it."

"The line to get in is rather... lengthy."

Amélie wrapped her arm around Angela's before walking confidently to the front of the line.

"Alexandre!" Amélie exclaimed, flashing her pearly whites in the bouncer's direction.

"Amélie!" The bouncer eyed Angela from head to toe. "Qui êtes-vous?"

"Angela," Mercy said, smiling. "Je ne parle pas français."

"English?" Alexandre asked.

"Oui," Angela replied. Amélie and Alexandre laughed.

"Amélie, she's adorable! Welcome, Ms. Angela. You two can come right in."

A beautiful spiraling staircase led up to the main floor of the nightclub. A sparkling waterfall lay dead center in the open area. Intricate and fun decorative pieces gave the nightclub a stylishly posh appearance.

The ladies each sat on a bar stool, before Amélie turned to Angela. "What would you like to drink?"

"Oh! I don't really drink," Angela said.

"Un verre de cosmo, s'il vous plaît," Amélie murmured to the bartender.

Mercy could barely hear Amélie order a drink due to the cacophony of pounding music. Her entire body vibrated as she sat idly there.

"Would you like to try some of my drink?" Amélie asked, snapping Angela out of her daze.

Angela considered Amélie's offer for a moment, before nodding, swishing the beverage in her mouth.

"Would you like to go to the restroom with me?" Amélie asked as soon as she finished her second cosmopolitan.

"Sure."

Angela plopped down on a black velvet couch as Amélie reapplied her makeup. Angela took off her black jacket, revealing her long sleeved plunge top.

Amélie, with a makeup bag in hand, walked over to a rather sleepy Angela, before boldly sitting on her lap. Mercy automatically turned red. "What are you doing?!" she squealed.

"I'm reapplying your makeup. Now hold still."

Angela didn't take her aegean eyes off of Amélie's lips as Amélie applied Angela's makeup.

"You have nice breasts," Amélie commented out of nowhere, diverting her eyes away from Angela's bust.

Mercy shifted in her seat and immediately replied, "Look who's talking."

"Hm?"

"Erm, nothing. You just make me question my sexuality." Angela turned another shade of red. She said that out loud!

Amélie stopped applying the lipstick as she erupted in genuine laughter, covering her mouth with her hand. " _Je ne savais pas que je comptais autant pour toi_ ," Amélie purred in Angela's ear. Angie knew what Amélie was implying despite the language barrier. She also knew that Amélie was just teasing her and, most likely, tipsy from her alcoholic beverages.

"Do you have anyone back in Germany?" Amélie asked, making conversation as she applied the finishing touches. Angela wanted to soak in Amélie's intoxicating lavender perfume.

"What? Oh, no. My profession just doesn't allow it."

"Well, Angela, when you're in love, you make the time."

"It's definitely better than anything I would have done," Angela said, staring at her face through the mirror. "Thank you, Amélie."

A new song started playing. "We should dance!" Amélie exclaimed, walking towards the bathroom exit.

"I don't... I don't know how to dance..."

"You don't need to know how to dance when you're at a nightclub, mon Ange. Come on! Let's live a little!"

Angela couldn't say no to those childish, adventurous eyes and that cute little grin.

Mercy focused her attention to the American music playing in the background. Amélie guided Angela towards the center of the bedazzled dance floor, before she began to dance to the beat of the music. Several partygoers stopped chattering in order to observe Amélie sway with a hint of precision and grace. As soon as another song started, she magnificently transitioned into the lively music.

Amélie gently grabbed Angela's hands, before getting Angela to dance with her. Amélie's playful and wild energy rubbed off of everyone within proximity. Soon, everyone was laughing and dancing blissfully to the club music.

After some time, Amélie and Angela sat down on a long velvet sofa around the perimeter of the dance floor.

"Cosmopolitan, s'il vous plaît," Amélie told an Omnic server.

"One for me too, please," Angela exclaimed, forcing Amélie to raise a brow in Mercy's general direction.

"Merci," Amélie said, paying the Omnic more than enough money to cover the costs.

"Oh, I have cash..." Angela exclaimed, reaching into her purse.

"No worries, mon Ange. I got it."

"Thank you for the generous offer, but are you sure?"

"It's the least I can do after dragging you out of your comfort zone."

A man abruptly plopped down on the seat next to Angela, causing her to jump.

"J'adore ton sourire," he vocalized passionately to Mercy.

Angela cleared her throat, before giving Amélie thelook.

"Elle n'est pas intéressée," Amélie said, dismissing the man.

"Je te parle, salope," the man suddenly hissed at Angela, completely ignoring Amélie.

"Elle ne parle pas français, connard," Amélie asserted, louder this time. She grabbed Angela's hand. "Come on, Angela. Let's move to a better spot."

"Do you know him?" Angela asked as soon as the man was out of sight.

"Non. But he should know where to keep his tongue."

Angela and Amélie walked into the upstairs lounge, observing the guests. An indoor jacuzzi towards the center of the lounge was crowded with people.

"I'll give ye ladies a free drink if ye jump in," a ginger man with an Irish accent chirped, much to the amusement of everyone around them.

Amélie raised an eyebrow. "I'll pass," Angela laughed, looking down at her rather conservative attire.

The two women made interesting conversation as the lights undimmed and the chatter of voices and music went down. Amélie was as interesting and witty as she was unknowingly charismatic and mystical. Angela could listen to her talk for hours on end.

"Here, I'll walk you to your hotel room," Amélie offered after the pair decided to call it a night.

"I want to move to Paris when I retire," Angela stated as the pair walked through the elevator doors.

"What about Paris do you like?"

"The colors. The buzz. The lights. The food."

Amélie smiled. "If you ever decide to come back on your own terms, I'll be glad to take you on a 'Tour de France'. Here, I'll write down my number for you."

"Amélie... I can't thank you enough for all that you have done for me today."

"See you around, Doctor." Amélie said, flashing a little smile in Angela's direction. And, just like that, the elevator doors closed, leaving Angela to stand in the doorway alone.

* * *

Mercy quickly walked, and the click of her black heels echoed throughout the vast corridor. She nodded her head in the guards' direction, before placing her hand on the doorknob.

Only Widow's legs were chained up, much to Angela's surprise. Her Talon catsuit was replaced by a sleek orange jumpsuit. Widowmaker placed her hands in the jumpsuit's pockets, slyly sitting back on the now leather chair she was bound to. Mercy was rather impressed that Morrison went to this extent after her complaint about Widowmaker's treatment.

The assassin was dead silent as Mercy stated, "We examined the contents of the four medications that were found in your bag. I deemed three of the medications necessary for your survival. My lab team worked quickly to create duplicates of the three necessary drugs to ensure you are healthy. Now, for the fourth medication..." Mercy's voice trailed off. "It is entirely your decision if you want me to administer it. I believe its primary function is to stabilize your mood. I also believe it is responsible for the suppression of your emotions."

Up until this point, Widowmaker had absolutely no idea that one of the Talon medications was responsible for the suppression of her emotions.

Angela continued. "It's also... a birth control pill?"

"Birth control pill?" Widow snorted. "Of all the ridiculous things I've been told, this takes the number one spot."

"You'll have to wean off the medication if you choose to not take them. That's not a problem at all."

A part of Widowmaker considered Mercy's offer. Yet, a part of her resembled something close to fear- she could barely handle the few emotional episodes she did have.

Of course, she wouldn't disclose this information with the good doctor.

"Non, I'm fine with taking the medication."

Mercy could sense Widow's reluctancy. She took a seat. "Are you sure?"

"Very."

Widow undid her ponytail, annoyed that little strands of hair were dangling down the side of her head. Angela had a sudden urge to run her fingers through Widow's seemingly untangled blue mane, although she didn't act on her impulse.

Mercy awkwardly cleared her throat. "You have bionic eyes, correct?"

"Oui."

"I want to test how sharp your vision truly is. I will have you do an eye examination momentarily- I just need to secure the eye chart to the wall."

After Mercy taped the custom eye chart, she pointed to a series of letters. "I want you to read row by row, please."

Widow sighed. "A. W. R. X."

Widow kept reading the letters row by row until she ran out of letters to read. Mercy slightly nodded her head. "Interesting. You have more than 40 out of 20 eye vision, which is more than I initially predicted."

"You underestimate Talon's capabilities." Widow could probably spot a green bird on a tree from a mile away. Her eyesight was impeccable. It simply had to be in her line of work.

"Now for the hearing test," Angela said.

Despite being associated with spiders, Widow's hearing was consistent of a dog's.

"Enhanced senses, indeed," Angela murmured, scribbling down notes.

"What day is it?" Widow suddenly asked.

"The twenty second."

Widow nodded. By now, she would've had a visit from a certain member of Talon. Widow had to accept the fact that nobody, not even Doomfist, would be coming for her. She was stuck within the confines of her stupid Overwatch cell, at the mercy of whatever they had in store for her.

Angela walked over to Widowmaker and handed her four bottles, each labeled by their function. "Remember, if you ever want to wean off the fourth medication, just say the words and I'll accommodate you. I won't see you until the weekend is over. Gives you plenty of time to think."

Think.

"Ugh," Widow vocalized, the disgust on her face purely blatant.

"What was that?"

"Nothing." Widow murmured, her voice much quieter than usual. Angela raised an eyebrow. Widow sighed. "Thinking gets you into trouble. More than you'd admit."

"I'm not sure I quite follow, Lacroix."

"Thinking gets you killed in my line of work." Widow sighed. "You don't think about the reasons behind your orders. You don't think before you pull the trigger. You don't think about what will follow your actions. You simply do what you are told to do, and that's it."

Mercy nodded ever so slightly. It was then that she was reminded of what Widowmaker was: a brainwashed woman who did Talon's dirty work without so much as a pause.

In the cell, she had no objectives, no orders, nothing to take her mind off herself. Widowmaker didn't want to be left alone because she would be inevitably forced to think. And not to mention that her days spent in solitary confinement were rather dull.

Mercy sensed this. "Would you like me to bring you a book? A deck of cards? A music player? Take your mind off of... things?"

Widow raised an eyebrow. "You would do that for me?"

"I'll have someone bring you those items upon request. Just let me know, okay?"

Mercy exited the cell, satisfied with the progress that had been made. Her report for Morrison would be sufficient enough for the time being.

 **Qui êtes-vous?** Who are you?

 **Je ne parle pas français.** I do not speak French.

 **Je ne savais pas que je comptais autant pour toi.** I didn't know I mattered that much to you. (Fun fact: it's one of Widowmaker's resurrect voice lines!)

 **J'adore ton sourire.** I adore your smile.

 **Elle n'est pas intéressée**. She's not interested.

 **Je te parle, salope.** I'm talking to you, slut.

 **Elle ne parle pas français, connard.** She doesn't speak French, asshole.


	5. Chapter 5- Glass

**A/N: Forewarning due to implications of assault and other related subjects.**

"I like shooting at bodies,

It's my way to be free."

The music pulsed through Widow's ears as she sat idly in the leather chair, waiting for Mercy to arrive. She didn't even hear Angela slip in through the doorway, coffee in hand.

Angela weakly smiled at the sight of Widow sitting with her eyes closed, apparently enjoying the music.

Angela cleared her throat. Widow jumped, her music player clattering to the floor.

"Good afternoon," Mercy said as she gathered her equipment and sat on her designated chair. "We'll get started in a moment. I just need to..."

Mercy paused. Widowmaker was more than tense this particular evening, and the palms of her hands sweated profusely with each passing second.

"Lacroix?" Mercy vocalized.

"Hm?"

"Are you alright?"

Widowmaker had been preparing all morning for this interaction. Yet, it was barely enough. She slightly hesitated as she asked, "Is it possible to raise the dosage of the medication responsible for the suppression of my emotions?"

Widowmaker stopped clenching her fists and looked up at Angela with unusual colored yellow eyes. Widow made herself believe that she wanted to be a loyal Talon subject until her very death- unquestioning, collected, stone cold.

Was it even about loyalty? Or was it for her own self-interest? All Widowmaker knew was that she wanted to be numb to absolutely everything. And, more importantly, to stop thinking about anything and everything.

A wave of realization dawned upon Angela. She had not yet measured how much of the mood stabilizer she should administer to Widowmaker as the assassin inevitably gained tolerance for it.

"How about I take measurements over the weekend? Will that work?"

"Is it possible that you can do it sooner?" Widowmaker said, not intending to make the request sound as urgent as it did.

"I'll... I'll see what I can do." Mercy paused, before she beckoned towards the equipment before her. "I came here today because I need blood samples from you."

Widowmaker inhaled deeply, before pinching the back of her hand. Stay calm. Stay calm.

As soon as Mercy took out the needle, it was all a fight or flight response for Widowmaker. "Nope. Fuck that."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me."

Trypanophobia. It wasn't the first time Mercy had dealt with someone with an intense fear of needles and or injections.

"How often do- did you receive injections under Talon?" Mercy asked.

"I received injections once a month under Talon's command." Widowmaker shivered. "And every single time I've been injected with something, it has never been a... pleasant experience. That's all I have to say about the matter."

"Well, I just want you to know that I try to make the experience as pleasant as humanly possible. I need these samples for a report I'm doing. If I can't receive them, then my superior will get someone else less forgiving than me to retrieve the samples. I wish to avoid that outcome."

The expression on Widowmaker's face was completely unreadable. Angela grabbed her canister of water, awkwardly making eye contact with Widow as she waited for her to respond.

Widowmaker stubbornly remarked, "Guess you'll have to force me."

"Warum spielst du die beleidigte Leberwurst?" Mercy rhetorically asked in her native tongue, crossing her arms.

"Ever heard of the expression 'ins Fettnäpfchen treten'?" Widow snapped back, now frustrated with Angela, rather than angry. "What's trivial to you isn't trivial to me."

"Then enlighten me, Amélie."

"I don't have to explain myself."

"But it'll help me understand why you're so adamant."

Widowmaker never, ever gave explicit accounts of her negative experiences with Talon. She preferred it that way. Well, she believed she preferred it that way.

Widow knew that confiding in Angela wouldn't be the worst thing to ever occur. She didn't trust Angela. But, everyone could recognize that Mercy was sincere. Maybe, just maybe, telling Mercy about her negative experiences might bring some closure to her mind, might allow whatever feeling is brewing up inside of her to release and escape like soda in a shaken bottle.

Widow looked at the door, half expecting someone to barge in and half expecting Mercy to leave. "Every single week in the beginning of my time with Talon, I was sedated in order to make alterations to my body. But, after some time, things began to change..."

It was almost too hard for her to recount. "The 'doctor' assigned to me began drugging me less for the purpose of altering me and more for..." Widow diverted her eyes away from Mercy's intense gaze, not wanting her flash of humiliation to be noticed. "I don't know why he would drug me whenever he advanced on me. I think he knows that I wouldn't have objected either way..."

You couldn't hide the horror on Angela's face. "Not objecting isn't consent, Amélie."

"... He probably drugged me in order to live out some fantasy," Widow continued. "I haven't been uncomfortable with it until very recently."

Widow stopped talking and looked down at the tiled floor. She could imagine the Talon doctor's sweaty hand firmly pin her down by the neck, could imagine the gradual numbing of her body as she inevitably succumbed to the sedative. Widow hated the feeling of not being in control of anything. Killing was her escape from the harsh reality that she relied on others for her wellbeing. She sought solace through her line of work. Knowing that someone else's destiny, someone else's life, was right there in her hands... was empowering.

"I'm glad you told me about this," Angela said, shaking Widow out of her trance. "It takes a lot of courage to reveal something so violating and intimate. I just want you to know that I'm here for you. Always."

Widow sat inaudibly, barely comprehending anything she just said. But, she felt relieved. That was all that mattered.

"I think we're done for today," Mercy mumbled, breaking the silence. "I'll update you soon on your medication."

Angela hurriedly gathered her belongings, suddenly feeling nauseous and lightheaded. She didn't bother to go to the cafeteria and grab a bite.

She scurried to her barrack, before collapsing to her knees on the floor, a feeling of misplaced guilt lingering in the air.

Amélie.

* * *

Mercy checked the dosage of Widowmaker's medication one more time before coming to a dreadful conclusion.

She swiftly gathered her belongings and walked towards Widowmaker's cell. The walk seemed extra long this time around.

Widowmaker looked up at the doctor, before glancing at the digital alarm clock. It was unusual for Mercy to arrive this late to anything.

"I don't have any good news to tell you today," Angela stated calmly, deciding to cut straight to the chase. There was no sugarcoating what she was about to tell Widowmaker. "I can't give you a higher dosage."

Widow could feel her heart sink down to her stomach. "Why not?"

"Miraculously, you're already at the point where you've consumed enough levels of lithium and valproic acid to kill you. I predict that upping the dosage at any amount would be detrimental to your health." Mercy paced back and forth, placing her hands behind her back. "As far as I can see, you really only have two choices. You can keep taking the same dosage, which is practically pointless because it will eventually have no effect on you. The best thing to do, in my professional opinion, is to wean off the medication. Then, after a lengthy period of time, we can reinstate you on the medication and see if it creates an effect on you."

Widow heaved out a long sigh. This was not what she wanted to hear. Definitely not what she wanted to hear.

In the back of Widow's mind was the fact that she was rapidly running out of time. For everything. At this point, it didn't matter if she wanted to wean off the medication or not. She was going to have to make a certain decision... soon.

"I'm only left with one plausible choice then..." Widow silently stated. "I'll wean off the medication."

* * *

 _Watchpoint: Germany. Weeks before Gérard's death._

Angela's stay at the watchpoint situated in the heart of Germany was not as chaotic as she initially thought it would be. On that particular day, there was hardly any action in the infirmary, apart from the occasional flu. Mercy jumped as the doors flew wide open.

The first thing she noticed was Gérard's wife being carried by a burly Overwatch agent.

The Overwatch agent set Amélie down on the infirmary bed Angela was standing near. The man pulled Angela aside as the other nurses in the room swarmed Amélie.

"Surely you've heard what happened?" he asked.

In fact, Angela did. The news that Amélie Lacroix, Gérard's mysteriously charming wife, had been kidnapped by Talon had spread like wildfire in the Overwatch community. It was virtually all Mercy had thought about. "Yes."

"We found her in a Talon base hidden here in Germany. I can't discuss mission specifics. She needs a physical evaluation immediately. Can you provide that?"

"Of course I can." Angela walked over to Amélie, who simply stared off into the distance. "Amélie? Can you stand?"

Amélie didn't budge, and her sunken brown eyes glossed over Angela's face. Mercy felt her throat sink to her stomach. Anyone with eyes could see that Amélie was displaying signs of psychological traumatization.

Mercy beckoned for the agent to talk to her in a quieter section of the infirmary, looking over her shoulder for a brief moment as they walked over. She adjusted her glasses. "Where's Dr. Brooks? I believe he can give a more thorough mental evaluation than me." Dr. Brooks was the primary psychologist stationed at Watchpoint: Germany. He was fairly new to Overwatch, yet he exerted enough skill to handle the job adequately.

"We're calling him to evaluate her mental state later."

"Nurses, a wheelchair. Take her into a private room please," Angela said rapidly, being used to giving out commands on the spot.

"Please be gentle with her," Mercy cautioned, although her statement was redundant in nature.

The nurses hurriedly followed Angela's orders, leaving the women alone in the room after wheeling Amélie in.

This entire time, Amélie said nothing. She simply stared off into the distance, her mind presumably in another cruel, empty world.

Mercy examined her visually. There was a sizable laceration on one of her arms which would surely leave a scar once healed. Other than that, nothing seemed out of the ordinary, except for a few bruises and scratches across her arms and legs. She was suffering from slight malnutrition, which explained her fatigued state.

"You have no immediate threatening injuries, thank goodness," Mercy exclaimed. "I want you to stay at the infirmary overnight. Get some rest. We will conduct a further examination of you tomorrow. I'll call over a few nurses to help you get to the bed." Mercy could tell that Amélie was more than worn down from the events that preceded that moment.

"I can walk."

Angels let out a sigh of relief. That was the first time she spoke to anybody after being rescued.

Amélie was determined to stand upright and walk to her hospital bed. Without warning, she got up from the wheelchair. Mercy quickly hoisted Amélie's lacerated arm around her neck and wrapped an arm around the woman's waist, guiding her to the bed. Within minutes, Amélie was knocked out cold.

* * *

 _Present day._

It was early in the morning. The rhythmic drip drip sound coming from the faucet was all Widowmaker could physically hear. Her mind was racing and her hands were shaking.

Standard protocol.

Widowmaker repeatedly tapped her fingernails against the pill bottle, lost in her train of thought.

Of all the ways Widowmaker could have died, it just had to resort to this.

Amélie tightly shut her eyes, remembering what her superior had told her when she first started working with Talon.

"Lacroix..." a superior hissed, placing his profoundly sickening hands on her shoulders. "What do you do if you get caught and there is no possibility of getting out?"

With unreadable eyes and a flat voice, Widowmaker stared directly at him and said, "You find a way to be exterminated before you give up any information."

Amélie reopened her eyes and shuddered. The thought of dying never occurred to her as a scary prospect. It was simply a constant part of her life. She was accustomed to all aspects of it- the smell, the sight, the element of the unknown.

Do it and get it over with. The more you dwell on the subject, the harder it will be.

At least you'll be with Gérard.

Widowmaker jumped as a ghostly figure appeared in the bathroom doorway. She knew who it was without even glancing at the figure's face.

"Gérard... que faites-vous?"

"Come with me, mon Amé." Gérard extended his arm out to Widowmaker. "There's no pain in death. No guilt. No sorrow."

Widowmaker could feel her body start to shut down. "I... I don't feel any of those."

"Oui. And birds don't fly. Come, mon Amé. It's time."

Gérard faded away into nothingness, and Widow was left alone in the room. Temporarily.

She snapped her head towards the leather chair that bound her when Mercy visited. Sitting in it was a masked doctor of some sort, whom Widow didn't quite recognize. She did, however, recognize the Talon emblem plastered on his scrubs. The man held an empty glass cup in his hands. His features were dark, and Widow couldn't see his sullen eyes.

"Widowmaker..." the man growled, his tone menacing and deep. Widow now knew who he was. "Have I ever told you that you resemble glass?"

Widowmaker gulped. "Glass?"

"You're sharp, dangerous, complex...

But once you're broken..." the doctor raised the cup, before carelessly dropping it on the ground. "You're useless."

Widowmaker was consciously aware that she was hallucinating. A headache erupted out of seemingly nowhere. A sharp pain in her chest snapped Widow back to reality... whatever that was.

Widowmaker ran towards the bathroom faster than the speed of light before spitting out the rest of the tablets that were slowly dissolving in her mouth.

"Make it stop," she whispered as she hunched over the sink, before she sunk to her knees. "Make it stop."

" **Warum spielst du die beleidigte Leberwurst?": German idiomatic expression, why are you playing the offended liver sausage? Used in an instance when someone is overreacting to something seemingly trivial.**

 **"Ins Fettnäpfchen treten." To put one's foot in one's mouth. To say something tactless.**

 **Que faites-vous? What are you doing?**


	6. Chapter 6- Promise

_Watchpoint: Gibraltar. Weeks before Gérard's death._

After several days at the infirmary, Amélie was speaking and making normal conversation with everyone. Angela, blinded by the fact that she was getting better, saw no peculiarity in her rather rapid recovery from the incident.

"What do you think?" Angela asked the psychologist, pulling him aside after another visit with Amélie.

"She has little recollection of the events that occurred," Dr. Brooks said in a low tone. "There were a few... details that concerned me, but it's too early to diagnose her with post traumatic stress disorder. In cases like this, it is best that she goes home. We need to put her in an environment that she's familiar and comfortable with. She's very communicative, which is excellent. I have high hopes that she'll recover from the incident."

Amélie glanced over at the doctors. Mercy smiled reassuringly. "We'll have Gérard come and take you home. He's on his way as we speak. You don't have to worry about a thing, alright?"

"Well, I have business to tend to," Dr. Brooks stated. "Goodbye, you two."

"Angela... I'm sorry..." Amélie mumbled, looking down at her thighs.

"What are you sorry for?"

"For taking up your time. I know you have plenty of other things on your plate."

"There's nowhere I'd rather be than here helping you recover," Angela beamed.

"And for that, I am forever grateful. I don't know how I would have held up if I was under someone else's care..." Amélie reached out for Angela's hand, which was situated on the bedpost.

"You're strong, Amélie. Very strong," Mercy reassured.

Amélie flashed Mercy a little grin, causing Mercy to also smile and look down at the ground.

An Overwatch agent knocked on the door. "Mrs. Lacroix, Mr. Lacroix is ready."

The handsome man walked through the doorway, before greeting Angela with a hug.

"Amé..." he whispered, walking up to his wife. Amélie jerked backward as Gérard attempted to kiss her on her forehead.

"Trauma," Angela told Gérard after the reaction. "She doesn't react well with an overabundance of contact. Allow her some time to heal from this experience. Try to keep physical contact at a low until we start therapeutic treatments." Mercy wasn't too surprised to learn that Amélie didn't allow Gérard to touch her. The only people, other than the burly Overwatch agent from earlier, that could make physical contact with her were women. What prompted that, Angela didn't know. Nor was she prepared to know. "We have several recommendations for psychologists and therapists in Paris..."

"Thank you, but there will be no need for that. I've spoken with Brooks. I've taken a break from work in order to temporarily live with her here in Germany so she can continue seeing him and another world class therapist." Gérard glanced over at his wife. "Thank you again, Angela."

Angela and Amélie were still locking hands with one another as Amélie got up from the bed and walked towards Gérard.

"Amélie, here's my room number in case you need anything else. Or in case you need a break from everything and need someone to talk to. Take care of yourself, okay?" Angela said, lightly squeezing Amélie's hand one last time.

Amélie nodded, before walking out of the room behind Gérard.

* * *

Prior to the kidnapping, Gérard had been away from home for over three months. That wasn't the problem for Amélie... it was always going to be like that. However, it was a problem that he never called, nor did he ever answer.

Amélie knew that they were growing distant. And boy, was it painful. Every time she caught herself thinking about their situation, her heart slowly tore and gave way, shattering itself into a million minuscule pieces that would later be picked up and put together again with dried out glue.

The rumble of an engine turning off woke Amélie out of her trance. Gérard opened the car door for Amélie before walking towards Gérard's private living space in Germany.

"I want to get something out of the way," Gérard stated. "I'm sorry I haven't talked to you in-"

"In three months," Amélie interrupted.

"In three months. Work has just been very hectic."

Amélie looked down at her fingernails. Gérard continued, "I have come to realize that I have been selfish. After facing the prospect of losing you... I felt like the scum of the earth. I still do. And now that you're here and alive, I want to make amends. Restart our relationship. Can you pass me that bottle over there, please?"

Amélie poured the man a glass of alcohol. She so desperately wanted to start over with a clean slate with the love of her life. She wanted to... she couldn't... she needed to...

A large portion of time passed as the pair sat across from one another. Amélie did nothing but study Gérard.

"Please say something! Anything!" Gérard cried out, drinking the alcohol straight from the bottle now.

"You want me to say something? Fine. Stop bullshitting me, Gérard."

"What are you on about?"

"The only thing I have ever done to you is love you unconditionally, love you so much that it tarnished my sense of what was right and wrong for me. And what did you do in return?"

Amélie leaned over the dining room table and stared at Gérard with cold, emotionless eyes. "You fuck your secretary."

Gérard was completely and utterly speechless. Amélie continued, "You're terrible at keeping secrets, Gérard. And you honestly thought that paying her off every month would hide the truth."

Gérard raised his hands up in defense. "What the fuck kind of accusation is this? Amélie, I would never!"

Amélie stopped leaning against the dining room table and walked into the living room, where she grabbed her waistcoat containing the keys to the car. She only knew that she needed to leave the environment. Gérard was a toxic drinker.

Gérard got up from his seat, stumbling over his feet. "Amélie, just where the fuck do you think you're going?"

"None of your business."

"Come back here before I make you."

"Making empty threats, now? Your father was right about one thing. You're just a shell of a man."

Gérard shoved Amélie, inevitably forcing her to fall into the glass coffee table. Gérard pushed her with enough force to shatter the coffee table, its bits and pieces lodging themselves in Amélie's hands and knees.

Amélie didn't cry out. She simply picked herself up and ran out of the living room, her waistcoat in hand. It wasn't long before Gérard was hot on her trail.

She sped outside and slammed the car door, locking the doors in the process.

"Amélie, open the fucking door!" Gérard shouted, frantically pulling on the door handles. "I just want to talk!"

Amélie, while attempting to shove the keys in the ignition, dropped them in the process. She blindly searched for them, tapping the carpet floor speedily with her fingertips.

Meanwhile, Gérard stopped pulling on the door handles and reached for a rock on the ground.

Amélie, while screaming, picked up her keys and sped past her drunk husband.

She hadn't the slightest idea of where she would go. She was unfamiliar with this part of Germany. Amélie took out the slip of paper Angela gave her and frantically punched in the address, before driving off into the distance.

* * *

Mercy turned on a single light as someone frantically knocked. She cracked open the door, hiding her figure so that the person didn't notice she was wearing nothing but a comfortable oversized t-shirt and revealing pajama bottoms.

"Amélie? What are you doing-" Angela paused mid sentence and gasped in horror. Amélie's knees and arms were dripping in murky blood.

Angela guided Amélie into the hotel room, shutting the door firmly behind her.

There were fragments of broken glass in one of the open wounds, which needed immediate attention.

Angela retrieved her medical kit and beckoned for Amélie to sit down next to her on one of the beds.

With precision, Angela used tweezers to gently dislodge the shards of glass.

"This is not going to be fun," Angela said, dipping a rag in peroxide.

Amélie bit her tongue as Angela cleaned her hands. She jerked her knee backwards when Angela attempted to apply the peroxide.

"Sorry..." Amélie murmured, mustering up the courage to take the pain.

"No need to apologize, Amélie. It's a natural reaction."

"I should get going. I don't want to worry you." Amélie cleared her throat, noticing that Mercy was braless. She diverted her eyes to the ground. She wasn't thinking when she sought haven in Angela. All she knew was that Angela would make her feel safe.

"It's too late for that, Amélie! Talk to me. I want to know what happened."

"I... I got in an altercation with someone. I just want to forget about it."

Angela's mind was racing full speed. Who was the cause of Amélie's pain? Was it...

"Did Gérard do this to you?" Angela asked, her tone soft and reassuring.

"No. Never." It pained Amélie to lie to Mercy like that. But, she wasn't willing to get Gérard into serious trouble.

She knew that Gérard still loved her.

"Amélie..." Mercy began.

"I cannot say who did this to me," Amélie interrupted. "But I can assure you that I'll be fine."

"Whoever inflicted harm on you needs to be apprehended. Amélie... this is assault."

Amélie gulped. "Really, mon Ange, I have things under my control. But I appreciate you looking after me." Amélie sighed. "I should leave..." she muttered, resting her head on Angela's shoulders. Yet, she didn't move from her spot. Where else could she possibly go? Her "home", where only cruelty and malice awaited her?

"But you don't want to leave."

Amélie sighed once more. "No. I don't."

"Are you feeling any better?" Angela asked.

Amélie walked over to Angela. "I'm fine..." Angela pressed her back against the wall as Amélie closed the distance between them. Amélie placed her knee in between Mercy's legs on the wall. "Thanks to you."

The tension that had been growing between the pair was almost unbearable. Amélie didn't allow her pain, her hurt, to settle in. Instead, she focused on the one person that had only showed her benevolence and love.

With a slight moment of hesitation, Amélie leaned in and kissed Angela.

Angela, her emotions and thoughts going berserk, could do little but moan into Amélie's mouth. Amélie tasted better than Angela could ever imagine. Angela didn't care about the implications of her actions in the moment, the implications of Amélie's actions. Angela only knew that Amélie needed her.

Amélie brushed her tongue softly against Angela's, preserving the delicacy of the kiss. Mercy placed both of her hands on Amélie's waist.

Almost as soon as the kiss escalated, it was over. "I'm sorry, Angela. I... I shouldn't have..." Amélie stated silently, diverting her eyes away from Angela's.

"It's okay, häschen..."

Amélie's thoughts raced, her breathing quickened. Was this desperation? Or was there something more than that?

Angela realized that she was in a position of power. She could have chosen to kiss Amélie again, could have gotten Amélie to betray her vows with Gérard even further. Amélie was just in such a vulnerable, malleable, desperate state. Angela suppressed her desires to kiss the ballerina again.

"You understand that I only want to help you, yes?" Mercy said, removing one hand from her waist in order to brush the back of her hand against Amélie's face. Amélie nodded, suppressing a waterfall.

Angela could tell that Amélie was on the verge of tears. Mercy pulled her into a hug, her chin resting on Amélie's shoulders. "Everything's going to be okay. You're going to get through this, Amé." Angela pulled Amélie slightly away from her in order to look her directly in the eye. "Please. Promise me that you'll press charges against whoever did this to you."

"I promise." Amélie winced, knowing full well that she wouldn't. "Ugh. I have a headache..." Without much warning, Amélie slipped out of Angela's grasp and left the room, the taste of Angela's gloss still lingering in her mouth.

Angela pressed her forehead against the door. She did it. She fell in love with a married woman.

* * *

Amélie, with shaky hands, opened the door. Sure enough, Gérard was wordlessly sitting on the couch, hands clasped together on his knees. Gérard didn't even look up as Amélie sat down next to him.

"I'm so sorry, Amé..." Gérard said, on the verge of tears. "I didn't mean for you to get hurt. It's all my fault... all of this..."

Gérard forced himself to look directly into Amélie's eyes. "I was desperate. And I thought for sure that you fell out of love with me. So, what did I do instead of confronting you about my worries? I hid from you, lied to you, betrayed you..."

"Oh, Gérard... I'm willing to work this... us... out. Build trust between us again. And I never, ever fell out of love with you. I never will. Tu es l'amour de ma vie."

Gérard embraced his wife on the couch, her head resting on his broad shoulders. It was in that moment that Amélie truly believed that everything would be okay.

* * *

 _Present day._

Angela stretched out on her bed, allowing her unruly and tangled hair to escape her ponytail. A knock at the door signaled that someone was visiting her.

She peeked at the clock. 2 am. Who was possibly at the door at this time of day?

Angela opened the door and immediately screamed, only to be shortly muffled after with a cold hand.

"Don't. Scream," Widowmaker whispered in a hush, dragging the doctor and shoving her on the wall in one fluid motion. "I just wanted to see you..."

Mercy cupped Widowmaker's face in her hands, before leaning in and giving her a long awaited kiss. Widow pulled away and began toying with Angela's hair.

"Angie? Why did you do this to me?" Widow innocently inquired.

"What do you mean, love?"

"Why did you and Dr. Brooks allow me to go home? Gérard's blood... is on your hands."

Angela looked down at her hands, absolutely dumbstruck. They were covered in his warm, glutinous blood. Widowmaker's chest, hands, and stomach were also covered in a thick coating of the substance.

Angela looked back at Widow's face. All she could see was Amélie now with her fair complexion.

"Why did you let me go home?" Amélie asked, softer than than ever. Her innocence, yet lack of raw emotion at the question, was enough to drive Mercy awake.

Angela sat straight up from her bed, panting and flustered. It was just a dream. Just a nightmare. She reached for her lips, shuddering as they still tingled under Widow's imaginary touch.

She clumsily took out her phone from her drawer as it began ringing.

"Doctor Ziegler here."

"Ziegler," a monotonous voice on the other end said. "We need you to come to cell 103. Lacroix has been bedridden all day. She hasn't responded to any of the guards."

"I'm on my way."

Angela walked at a quick pace, not making conversation with her colleagues as she strided towards Widowmaker's cell.

Widowmaker was staring at the ceiling. Mercy knew what Amélie had done as soon as she saw her.

Angela swiftly went inside the cell restroom, before taking all of the medications out of the medicine cabinet.

Mercy should have known that Widowmaker would be instructed to end her life should she ever be captured. How could she be so damn irresponsible?

Angela didn't in any way, shape, or form blame anyone but herself.

Angela gently sat down on the bed, close enough to feel the cold radiating from Widow's body. Widow's legs were chained to the bed.

"You know..." Widowmaker mumbled, not turning her head away from the ceiling, "There's going to be a time in your life when you'll encounter a joke or situation so hysterical that you'll never laugh so hard in your life ever again. And you'll never know it. It'll just occur." Widowmaker turned her head in Angela's direction, her eyes bloodshot red. Had she been crying?

Mercy had never felt so guilty in her entire life. "This is all my fault," she cried out, unable to conceal how shaken she was.

"What are you on about?" Widow asked, a hint of curiosity trailing her voice.

"I should have never sent you home. I should have never sent you home..."

Widow raised an eyebrow, before gathering up the strength to sit upright in her bed.

"I know you more than you think, Amélie," Mercy mumbled, burying her face in her hands.

"Tell me, Doctor. How do we know each other?"


	7. Chapter 7- Flood

Mercy told Widow everything. Well, almost everything. Well...

She recollected the events of the night they met, as well as of the ballet recital and the nightclub. Recalling the events preceding Gérard's death, however, were more difficult to talk about. All she said about those weeks was that she aided Amélie in her recovery. She completely left out any mention of the kiss. Even Angela had doubts that it ever occurred.

After Angela stopped talking, there was a moment of pondering. "I didn't expect to have a history- a somewhat extensive history- with you," Widowmaker commented. "And I remember absolutely none of it..."

Tolerable silence filled the otherwise stuffy air as Widow attempted to conjure her next question. "What did you mean earlier? When you said that it was all your fault?"

Angela looked down and sifted through her bag, not looking for anything in particular. She just needed to fidget. "If Dr. Brooks and I had examined you more thoroughly, we could have found out that you were programmed..."

"Non, non. Don't think that. Even if you looked, you would have never noticed that I was programmed into a sleeper agent. Talon was one step ahead."

Widow suddenly sat up from the bed and grabbed the bucket near her, where she hurled her guts out. Angela waited until she heard Widow sigh before speaking.

"Feel any better?" she asked, handing Widow a washcloth.

Widow nodded slowly. "I'm tired."

Angela's cellphone rang. She excused herself and walked into the corner of the room, expecting the call to be unimportant.

"Doctor Ziegler here."

"Angela!" A familiar voice greeted cheerfully. "It's Genji. Lena gave me your number."

Fucking Lena! Angela blushed profusely.

"I apologize if I'm calling you at a bad time," Genji continued.

Angela tried her best to not sound tired. She adjusted her glasses. "Oh, you're not."

"Great. I was wondering if you would like to catch up over dinner tonight."

Angela took the request as a friendly gesture. "That would... be wonderful, Genji. But, I'm afraid I'm going to be occupied."

"How about Friday?"

Angela thought for a moment. She would have to visit Widowmaker earlier in the morning. "That would be great."

"What's the best time to retrieve- pick you up?"

"Six is fine. I'll give you my room number."

"That sounds like a plan. Until Friday, Angie."

Angela hung up, only to find an amused look on Widow's face.

"You're going to be okay." Angela sighed, jumbling up her thoughts. "I'll check up on you tomorrow. This should all clear up within a week." Angela leisurely grabbed her possessions and proceeded to walk halfway through the doorway, before Widow called out for her.

"Hm?" Angela vocalized, spinning her head.

"Thank you. For telling me."

* * *

Widow's illness was clearing up in a matter of days. Mercy and Widowmaker didn't realize that their relationship and banter would permanently alter after Angela made the decision to tell Widowmaker their backstory. An incomplete one, but a backstory nonetheless.

Work over the weekend was incredibly slow, with the occasional flu and headache. Regardless, Angela was worn out. While Angela worked in the main infirmary, all she could think about was her next session with Widowmaker. Stating that Mercy was a workaholic would be an understatement. Yet, she couldn't help but feel as if she was absolutely consumed in her workload. She had zero time for herself. Oh, well. Her "me time" consisted of watching reruns of old shows and eating ice cream, anyways.

"You look tired," Widow commented, her legs tied down to the unmovable chair in the middle of the cell.

"Is it really that obvious?" Mercy groaned.

"Oui. And your shirt is inside out, chérie."

Mercy turned red from embarrassment as she buttoned up her coat to hide the tag. She cleared her throat. "I was planning to administer several psychological tests today, as well as a brain scan. However, we may have to hold off on most of those." Mercy placed a clipboard full of notes on her lap. "So, you are taking the Rorschach inkblot test. Real simple. Just look at the images and tell me what you see."

Mercy held up the first image. Widow shrugged. "I see... a pig? Two dogs facing opposite directions? Mon dieu, this is impossible."

Amélie attempted to decipher image after image, until one in particular stood out to her. "I see... two ballerinas, each a mirror reflection of themselves. They are bowing down, as if they just delivered a performance."

"That was... the last card," Mercy said. "I'll evaluate your responses soon."

Mercy checked the time. She had an extra thirty minutes with Widowmaker, as she expected to plan more for the day. As much as she wanted to call it a day, she had a conference as soon as she was finished with her routine meeting.

"I remember my very first ballet recital," Widow recollected, looking at Mercy's shoes so as to avoid eye contact.

"You remember?"

"Ha. Surprise, isn't it?" A powerful feeling of nostalgia, of reminiscence, overcame Amélie's senses.

"Do you miss it?" Angela asked.

"I don't think 'miss' is the correct term."

Images of a young Gérard bombarded Widowmaker's mind, no matter how much she tried to push her thoughts away. Mercy could tell that Amélie danced even before she formally met her. All of Amélie's movements, whether it be a hair flip or a subtle shift in her seat, had an air of elegance, fluidity, control about it.

"How are living conditions so far?" Mercy asked, ready to get on Morrison's ass about the subject should Widow find conditions unsatisfactory.

"Fine. It's a shame you people don't allow wine in solitary confinement."

"Alcohol isn't allowed anywhere on the premises, unfortunately. You're a wine enthusiast?"

"I'm French," Widow said, as if that alone would explain it.

"I'm sorry for coming here earlier than expected. I have something to do later on..."

"Let me take a wild guess. You're going on a romantic dinner date with the man you were talking to on the phone."

Angela blushed furiously. "Not a date!"

"Oh, please," Widow said, acting uninterested. But, quite the contrary was the case. Widow needed to talk about something irrelevant, silly. "Don't think I didn't notice the way you lit up when he spoke." Widow never truly realized the value of human interaction until she was locked up in the ridiculous cell. She absolutely relished in these moments of small talk.

"It's not like that!" Angela groaned.

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

"Well, no. I don't."

"Why not?"

"Well... my profession is my number one priority at the moment. I just don't have the time to indulge in relationships."

"Angel, angel."

Angel. "Did you know that you called me mon Ange?" Mercy asked, inwardly smiling to herself as she remembered the seemingly small detail.

It was as if someone brought a sledgehammer down on a concrete levee, allowing an influx of water to pour out into the open. Widow's misplaced, often fragmented, memories of her previous life began to piece together as they flooded her mind. Her face dropped as a dull pain erupted on her temples.

"Are you okay?" Angela asked, concern written on her face.

"I'm fine," Widow managed to cough, the urge to lie down overriding her urge to make sense of what was happening.

Widow attempted to regain her composure, unsure what was occurring in her mind. Words, flutters of images, paced back and forth, back and forth across her dazed eyes.

"What's wrong?" Angela asked, sounding more anxious than she intended.

"I... I just need some rest. Please."

Angela decided not to press Widow any further. "I'll respect your wishes. Don't hesitate to tell the guards to call if you need me sooner. It's going to be a few days before I see you."

Widow slightly nodded. "Until then," she said curtly, before turning her head away from Angela.

* * *

Mercy stood outside her room, repeatedly checking the time on her watch. Genji finally arrived several minutes late.

"Angela. Greetings," Genji said, hugging the doctor.

"Genji. It's so wonderful to see your face." It was rare when Genji wasn't sported in his signature suit.

"You look beautiful," Genji said, admiring Angela's appearance.

Angela smiled. "Thank you."

"Shall we?"

"We shall!"

Angela was surprised to find out that Genji rented a car for the occasion. She grinned pleasantly as Genji pulled up next to a little ramen joint.

"What have you been up to?" Genji asked.

"Meetings. Work in the infirmary has been quite slow."

"How's your 'special assignment'?"

Mercy looked both directions before leaning in closer to Genji. "How do you know about it?"

"Morrison. And I helped capture her. Are you careful with her?"

Ha. "Of course. The work is… interesting. And insightful. That's about as much as I can disclose."

"I understand."

"What have you been up to? Any new hobbies?"

"A few missions with Lena, nothing major. I have actually been trying to learn how to play the guitar."

"That's interesting. How is it working out?"

"Let's just say that I'm not musically gifted."

"You should play for me sometime."

"Your ears will bleed. Just letting you know ahead of time."

Mercy laughed. "You should stop by the infirmary during my work hours."

"Will do."

"Can I bring you something to drink?" a waiter appeared before the pair, notepad in hand.

"Water, please," Genji lightly ordered.

"What's your strongest alcohol? I'll take that."

Mercy completely disregarded the wine glass before her and chugged the alcohol straight from the bottle, before ordering another. Genji incredulously stared at her, mouth agape. "Everything... fine?"

"Oh, yes. It's just... somebody from my past resurfaced recently and I don't know how to handle it. But, it's fine. I'm fine..."

"Well, I'm here to listen whenever you need me to. Just say the words."

"Thank you, Genji. That means a lot." Angela made futile attempts to push Amélie out of her mind for the remainder of the dinner. The events of the day wore her out to the point of knocking out on her military graded bed without the need for sleeping pills.


	8. Chapter 8- Garden

**A/N: Guess what today is? The birthday of Lucie Pohl and Chloé Hollings (Voice actresses for Mercy and Widowmaker)! And my birthday is coming up soon! April babies unite!**

Widowmaker was strapped to the chair per usual, the sight of her vulnerable and unthreatening somewhat unseemly.

"Do you feel better today?" Angela questioned as she entered the cell.

"Yes."

"I haven't been able to think straight lately. Have you?" Mercy asked, wrapping her fingers around the spine of her provided chair.

"Same here." Widow knew that Mercy wanted her to elaborate. "It feels as if everything is moving in slow motion. And I can't distinguish between reality and memory at the moment."

"What do you mean?"

Widow paused. She really didn't want to vocalize her next thoughts, but she found herself unable to entrap them cohesively in her warped mind. "We...kissed," Widow bluntly said, sifting through her memories as if they were all neatly filed in a folder.

What?" Angela asked, feeling as if she heard her wrong.

"We kissed. Didn't we?" Widowmaker didn't want to come to the conclusion that the memory was real.

Mercy bit her lower lip, still processing what Widowmaker just said. "Yes. We did."

"I remember."

Angela tensed up in her seat, thinking of any plausible medical explanation for Widow's sudden recollection of that night. A trigger of a strong emotion could evoke a recollection of a lost, buried memory...

There was a moment of dreadful, almost unbearable, silence. Just when Widow thought she couldn't take it any longer, Angela broke the quietude. "What do you remember?"

"Fragments."

"Of that night?"

"Not just that night."

A decade old question had been brewing within Angela before she began to realize it. Why was she pondering over a question that she absolutely knew the answer to? "Do you remember who hurt you the night we kissed?"

Widowmaker flashed a dismal smile. "You're wishing you're wrong right now, aren't you?"

"Why did he do it?" Mercy inquired, her heart suddenly sinking into the pit of her stomach.

"He was drunk and I said something I shouldn't have. I instigated it. That's all I have to say about that."

"Instigate?"

"It was my fault," Widow said, turning her head in order to avoid eye contact.

"Look at me," Mercy pleaded, nearly commanded. "Don't justify his actions. What happened that day was horrid, and not in any way your fault. It doesn't matter what you said to him. He should have never laid a finger on you."

Widowmaker drew her eyes back to Angela's lips. The back of her hair stood up. The feeling of rushed adrenaline overrode her senses as she remembered the sensation of kissing Angela all those years ago.

The more she delved deeper into her past, the more she realized how utterly naive Amélie had been. Amélie had let misplaced love blind her judgement... multiple times.

Believe it or not, Gérard having an affair with his busty secretary had only been part of the problem. His gambling addiction, insensitive rampages and remarks, self-importance, alcoholism... All of this, and Amélie was completely blind to it.

No. Despite his character flaws, he was still a fundamentally rooted man. Widowmaker refused to believe that she was wrong in devoting her life to him.

Widow felt as if she were swallowing marbles, and she was unable to vocalize anything back to Angela except for a choke.

Widow tightened her hand into a ball of fist, finally able to regain some form of speech. "What happened that day happened. I won't dwell on it anymore. Neither should you."

Angela wanted to scream at the top of her lungs. "I can't just not dwell on what happened that day! I don't think you know how much that incident took a toll on me-"

"What could have possibly taken a toll on you? A chaste kiss?"

"When Gérard was found dead and you went missing for the second time, the very first thought that entered my head was that the person who injured you that night finished the job. Be it some crazy ex boyfriend or- or a jealous coworker! And I never reported it!"

Widowmaker fell absolutely silent. Mercy continued, her voice shaky, "Thinking about what could have happened to you was the worst form of mental torture I've ever endured. And trust me, I have made plenty of decisions that most can't bear to have on their conscience. Yet, that incident brought me to the brink. The fucking brink!" Angela's eyes brimmed with heated tears. "And then I come to find out that you've been sentenced to a fate worse than death!"

The sight of Angela sobbing into her hands and completely unraveling caused Widowmaker to turn her face away from the distressed woman. Angela had been bottling her true feelings towards the entire situation. Widow tightly shut her eyes and crinkled her brows, desperately wanting to be anywhere but there.

Angela heaved a trembly sigh after several moments passed. "I feel numb."

Widowmaker held her tongue. Welcome to the club.

Angela dabbed at her wet eyes with her sleeve, before hastily getting up from the seat and leaving the room, emotionally unable to handle herself.

* * *

"Angie? Angieeeee," Lena slowly enunciated, waving her hand in front of Angela's face.

"Mmm?"

"Want to go for a walk?"

Angela looked up from her seat, finally remembering where she was. The cafeteria. And everyone at the table was staring incredulously at her, somehow taken aback by the fact that the studious and persevering Angela Ziegler could ever feel exhausted.

Angela nodded, before picking up her tray of half eaten food and throwing the contents away.

"Talk to me, Angie. What's bugging ya?" Tracer said, placing an arm around Angela's, as if to guide her.

"I can't do it anymore," Angela bluntly vocalized, leaning against the time traveler. "I don't want to quit Overwatch. Not yet. But, there are... certain projects that I don't want to continue anymore."

"Like?"

Angela shrugged, "Just things Morrison makes me oversee. I only want to focus on a set amount of work." Angela held her tongue on the emotional toll Widowmaker's situation brought upon her. That, piled with work overload, was enough to drag Angela.

"Don't try to accomplish everything, Angie. You're only one human with so much time on your hands. I heard on the Budget Counsel that they're thinking about allocating more qualified hands towards the Research and Medical Center. Around the end of this month. Maybe more hands are all you need."

"Ja, it would be great if others can take over certain... assignments." Angela checked her phone. She had been focusing on other work, and thus hadn't visited Widowmaker for about two and a half weeks. At least, that's the excuse Angela told herself.

"I'm sorry. What'd you say, Lena?" Angela asked, shaking her head in order to concentrate.

"I said to take care of yourself. Make yourself your number one priority." Lena let go of Angela's arm. "I have to get back to duty. Update me soon."

* * *

Widowmaker absolutely hated being restrained in that fucking metal chair posted dead center of the room. She also figured that Angela had been avoiding her. Widow had been insensitive, and she admitted it. Perhaps she was bringing Angela back to the low points of her life.

"Morning," Angela mumbled, three guards following close behind her. "You're doing a physical wellness test today. Don't mind these gentlemen, just escorting you to the opposite end of the building."

Widowmaker nodded, not making any attempts to resist. Her arms were roughly grabbed, and she was forced to stand up and follow Angela.

Angela made sure the route they chose was vacant. Most people working at Overwatch still didn't know about Widowmaker's presence.

Mercy typed in a passcode and entered the room, observing as the guards locked Widowmaker in a makeshift gym with a towering one way mirror.

"Thank you," Angela told the men. "I'll call for you when I want her back in her cell."

Widowmaker looked at the gym equipment all around her, before focusing her attention on the single dim light that illuminated the treadmill.

Angela pressed a button. "Can you hear me?" she asked, the loudspeaker ringing in Widow's ears.

"Yes."

"There's a strap by your feet that I want you to put around your arm. It measures your heart rate."

Widowmaker was uncomfortable by the silence in the room that followed for the minutes Angela reviewed her documents. A single thought that Widowmaker felt the need to suppress was itching the back of her throat. She was waiting any second now for her to open her mouth in a spur of a moment and release.

"I'm sorry."

Angela looked up from her work tablet. "Pardon?"

"I shouldn't have brought you into that situation. It was a whim of the moment thing," Widow articulated, not willing to utter the phrase "I'm sorry" again.

Angela bit her lower lip as she came up with a reply. "I... I'm coming to realize that I am upset at my handling of the situation, not the fact that you came to me when you were distressed." She spun her pen in her hand. "I'm sorry I've made you feel otherwise."

"The decisions made that day weren't one sided."

Angela nodded slightly to that, knowing Widow couldn't see her nod, before she changed the subject. "The treadmill in front of you will start to move. All I want you to do is run until you feel as if you can't anymore."

Widowmaker mentally prepared herself for the task, before reluctantly hopping on the treadmill.

Widowmaker spoke after a few minutes of light jogging. "Do you remember which ballet I helped produce in France? The night we went to the club?"

Mercy perked up an eyebrow. "La Bayadère. Why do you ask?"

"Just reassurance. I was debating if it was that or A Midsummer Night's Dream."

"I thought you were testing me at first," Angela said, because it felt as if everyone and their mother knew that Angela wasn't truly paying attention to the plot. She was in fact way more interested in the ballerina front and center of the stage.

Angela amped up the speed, and Widowmaker adjusted to the quickening of the treadmill. Angela glanced at the screen, knowing that Widow's heart rate would accelerate.

Widow was beginning to get uncomfortably hot underneath the ugly grey shirt that was provided for her. It was promptly off with a flick of her arm, and all that covered her upper body was a flimsy, rather unsupportive sports bra.

Angela nearly forgot to go to the next setting as she admired Widowmaker's athletic, toned body. She had a prominent set of abs. Angela noticed the assassin was making delicate, yet noticeable, tweaks to her running form with every speed amp. Small droplets of sweat began to glisten against the back of her neck and stomach. What made Widow's speed more impressive was the fact that she was barefooted.

Many settings later, Widow hopped off the treadmill wobbly-kneed. She shook out her legs and took quick, light pants of air.

"There's water in the box to your left. Sorry, it's lukewarm," Angela said, saving the information on a computer.

Widow spent the next two hours doing miscellaneous athletic tasks, such as pull-ups and weight lifts. Her strength was slightly less impressive than her speed, but impressive nevertheless.

"How can you lift that much if your arms are so skinny?" Angela exclaimed.

"Clearly you've never had to run with a bulky sniper rifle. Does wonders for your upper body," Widowmaker replied, downing her fifth water bottle. "What's next?"

"You know what, I think I'll let you rest. You worked out more today than I do in several months. The guards will escort you back to your room momentarily. I have work to take care of."

"Bye, Ziegler," Widow dismissed, stretching out her legs as she waited for the guards to drag her back to the confines of the desolate, boring cell.

* * *

Widowmaker somewhat enjoyed the vigor of working out for the next week, often with no supervision and no Angela. Her vital data was automatically saved and downloaded onto a computer. A knock on the door would always signal her to drop any equipment place her hands freely in front of her body.

Widow jumped as Angela suddenly greeted her through the com. "Jesus!" the assassin exclaimed, dropping her kettle bells in the process.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you!" Angela exclaimed.

"It's fine..."

"I'm taking you out today."

Widow smirked. "Taking me out on a date or killing me?"

"That was poor wording," Angela laughed. "We're going on a supervised trip to the botanic garden situated on the east side of the watchpoint. It's vacant at the moment. I figured you needed some fresh air."

"That's... thoughtful. Thank you," Widow exclaimed, somewhat relieved that she'd be able to finally stretch her legs somewhere other than her cell and the makeshift gym.

Amélie rubbed her eyes as she adjusted to the sunlight. It was a beautiful cloudless day, and the faint sound of bees working grew closer with each step. Amélie glanced amusingly at the structure the garden was in. It was like a sky-high cage, meaning that there were enormous steel bars surrounding the garden and bars acting as a roof. There were spaces between the bars that allowed for adequate sunlight and rain for the plants. Angela slid in the keycard needed to gain access to the garden.

Amélie retained a quizzical look on her face as Angela said to the main guard, "Thank you. Just stay here while we go inside."

All the guards glanced peculiarity at one another simultaneously, before the larger guard vocalized, "Um, Doc? I don't think it's a good-"

"That's an order," Mercy said, waving her hand dismissively. "I'm well aware that she's healthy and completely capable of killing me once I allow her to freely roam. However, she's not going to try anything, because it's more disadvantageous to kill me than the former option. And she's knows it."

The guards gulped down their many heated thoughts and words and stayed at the entrance of the gate.

Mercy and Widow walked side by side through the aisles of the garden, before they settled on a bench in between orchids and hibiscus.

"Don't you have a lot of work?" Widow asked Angela as she rubbed a petal between her fingers.

"Yes. But, I need a break. I figured you did too."

Widow nodded. The pair sat in a comfortable silence as they soaked in the sun. Finally, Widow commented, "Did you know that Gérard used to talk about you all the time before we even met? I was beginning to think that he had a thing for you by the way he applauded your work."

"Oh, god," Angela laughed. "I never saw Gérard that way."

"Not that it's any of my business, but do you ever feel massively overworked?"

"I don't like to say I'm overworked, but I am," Angela admitted. "Sometimes I don't know how to handle large amounts of stress. Exercise and drinking sometimes doesn't cut it for me." Angela debated telling Widow the next bit of information, but she found out soon that the wine in her system would make her speak regardless of what she wanted. "I used to have a friend with benefits. He used to be a big stress reliever, but I'm confined to the watchpoint and sex started getting one sided. I doubt that I'll be hooking up with any of my male colleagues anytime soon."

"Female friends with benefits are just as good for stress relief. Just keep your options open," Widow said, rather too nonchalantly for Mercy's taste.

Angela didn't know what to say to that. "And you would know this because?"

"I had my share of flings before I met Gérard."

The thought of women bedding Amélie made Angela flustered and, to a lesser extent, resentful. "I've never had sex with a woman before."

"Experiences," Widow hummed. "I assume you're attracted to women as well as men?"

"Erm- well..." Angela cleared her throat. "When did I bring us to this topic again?"

"You're avoiding the question," Widow smirked, running her hands through her hair.

"It's because I'm not going to answer!" Angela cleared her throat. "Want to hear something sad? You are the last person I have ever kissed."

Before Widow began to question that statement, Angela explained, "I never kissed my friend with benefits. He always wanted to maintain a sense of detachment. And I haven't been in a true relationship since college."

"Mmm... I see. Hopefully I'm not the last."

Angela groaned out loud all of a sudden, her mind going towards the events that will come in the future. "I have to attend two very important meetings tomorrow. The first one is crucial. I'm proposing a financial plan for the Budget Council that will include increasing my staff size. It would make my life one hundred times easier if it got approved."

"I'm rooting for you," Widow said. "Don't stress too much. Things are going to go in your favor if you put your mind towards attaining that goal."

Angela nodded, thankful for that comment. "Are you ready to head back?"

"Mmhmm. Although it feels so much better outside."


	9. Chapter 9- Temptations

"Morning," Angela mumbled, subconsciously spinning a pen in her hand. Her meeting had been postponed due to scheduling problems, so she was more than annoyed with how the day was going. Angela was accompanied by the same three guards from the previous day. "We are doing a full body scan today."

Once the guards got to the room, Angela dismissively said, "Thank you. Just close the door behind you while I examine her."

All of the guards bit their tongues in order to hide their dissatisfaction with the way Angela was carelessly allowing Widowmaker to be unrestrained. She was a master assassin, not a submissive patient.

The door closed. Widow and Angela looked at each other for a few moments, before Angela said, "Alright. Im just filling out last minute paperwork..." She set down her work tablet, before she said, "I need you to change."

"What did you say?"

"I need you to change into this gown for the scan. You can change behind those curtains as I turn on the apparatus. No undergarments underneath, please. Also, get rid of the ponytail."

Widowmaker shrugged, before she began to take off the ugly prison shoes and provided jumpsuit.

Angela turned bright red as she shrieked, "You don't have to- there are curtains over there!"

Widow paused for a second, before continuing to take off her clothes. "You're a professional. I think I can get naked in front of you without you gawking like a little boy."

Sure enough, Angela gawked like a little boy. She diverted her eyes away from Widowmaker's ample breasts and cleared her throat, attempting to say something, anything.

"I- erm- want you to- um- uhh," Angela stammered, failing completely to come up with a coherent sentence.

"Tell me," Widow replied, her tone low and seductive. She was still not in the gown. "What do you want me to do?"

"Not me," Angela swiftly replied, not wanting to give Widowmaker the satisfaction of riling her up. "Now get in the gown!"

Widow smirked, entertained by that response. She abided by Mercy's "wish" and slipped on the gown. Widow hobbled towards the scanner, before lying on the metal surface, wanting to just get it over with.

"Finished," Widow heard Angela exclaim from outside the scanner after she guesstimated that forty minutes had passed.

Widowmaker waited until the machinery turned off before sliding off the table and changing back into the puke-colored jumpsuit.

"This scan is going to make my life easier. Thank you for complying."

Widow smiled briefly, before she was taken away.

* * *

Angela exited the office building, absolutely feeling as if a heavy burden had been lifted off her shoulders. Her plan for allocating resources and money towards the medical and science fields finally got recognition and approval. Some of her projects were going to be headed by other departments and talented individuals. She finally regained some of her time back.

Angela steadily paced towards Widowmaker's cell, carrying her hefty purse in one hand and a briefcase in the other.

Guards were not stationed in front of Widowmaker's cell between the hours of 3 and 6 am. There was no way she'd be able to get out of the cell, so Morrison saw no need for the extra security. Having two soldiers watch over a helpless assassin's cell room meant two less soldiers out on the battlefield, two less soldiers contributing something worthwhile. Widowmaker, however, had no knowledge of this.

Angela entered the passcode digits and opened the door.

The femme fatale wasn't asleep. Rather, she was partaking in a "hair-raising" activity.

"I was bored, okay?" Widowmaker said defensively, continuing to braid her hair despite the embarrassment of doing so.

"I think it's sweet," Mercy said.

Widow glanced back at the mirror she took down from the bathroom. "You're awful early. What is so urgent that you have to see me at 4 in the morning? This surely could have waited, non?"

"This is the only time I get to see you today. I have... something to do later on..."

"Let me take a wild guess. You're going on another romantic dinner date with the man you were talking to on the phone a few weeks ago."

Angela blushed furiously. "Just a colleague!"

"Oh, please."

"It's not like that!" Angela groaned. "And it's a fun work brunch, not a date that I'm looking forward to later on. Moving on from the subject... my plan got approved! I brought something for us." Angela opened her bag, revealing a bottle of wine. "Consider it payment. And a celebration."

Amélie raised an eyebrow. "Tsk, tsk. Contraband, Doctor."

"You're not going to tell on me, are you?"

"Depends. What type of wine?"

"Chardonnay."

"Mmm... I guess I'll take it."

Angela handed Widow the bottle, each woman taking turns sipping the sacred nectar.

"Thank you, by the way," Widow said.

"No problem. Remember, this never happened as far as I'm concerned."

"What never happened?" Widowmaker secured her fishtail braid with the sole elastic she was permitted.

"I never learned how to braid," Mercy admitted, admiring the plait on Widow's beautifully long mane.

Amélie stared at Angela incredulously. "What? Why not?"

Angela thought for a moment. "I didn't grow up with many female figures. I just never bothered to learn the skill."

"Well, whenever you want to learn, just say the words. You've at least had your hair braided, right?"

"Erm... no. I've never had my hair braided."

Widowmaker opened her mouth to say something, before she contemplated against it. Instead, she beckoned for Angela to sit next to her on the bed. Mercy sat down, subtly staring at Widow through the mirror situated in front of the pair.

Widow's quick and skillful fingers worked on Angela's shorter blonde hair. It was hardly the first time Amélie worked her magic on someone else.

"Just a colleague," Widow smugly smiled.

"The man in question is a brotherly figure. That's it."

"Mmhmm." Widow secured Angela's braid with her elastic.

Angela gasped as she looked at the braid in every angle she thought of imaginable. "It's absolutely perfect! I love it, I really do."

"Parfait? I think I could've done better," Widow said, truly smiling at the compliment.

"You should do that more," Angela said.

"Hm?"

"Smile. Like, really smile."

"You have to make me," Widow snapped back playfully.

"Noted," Angela said, her gorgeous laugh ringing throughout the room. That alone forced Amélie to stupidly smile once more. And she entirely blamed the alcohol.

Widowmaker thought for a second. She wasn't drunk, was she? No, she couldn't be. Her efficient metabolism allowed her to consume alcohol levels beyond what the average human could tolerate, let alone get drunk off of.

It was entirely Mercy that caused this playful shift in behavior. Mercy had her own secret superpower that she was completely unaware of.

"Whatever happened to your alcohol purity?" Widow asked, raising an eyebrow.

Angela laughed. "Shit went downhill after Overwatch disbanded. I was out of a job and I was desperate to rid myself of the stress of finding work, even if the feeling was temporary. Plus, I actually like the taste of a strong drink. Wish I hadn't been reluctant to try alcohol sooner." Angela poured the contents of her makeup bag on Widow's bed. "You don't mind if I do my makeup while you play with your hair, do you?"

"Go right ahead."

The pair sat in front of the mirror Widow took down. "You look as if you have something to say," Widowmaker noted, biting her lower lip as she observed Angela finish her mascara.

"Can you pick a gloss for me that would go well with this look? The plan got approved, but I don't know how Morrison is distributing everyone. I don't know why I'm so worried about it..."

Widowmaker shut Angela up by lightly tilting up Mercy's chin and applying a strawberry-flavored lipgloss to her lips. Widow began to hum to no particular tune. She listened to the pace of Angela's breathing, realizing that it was slowing down.

"Relax..." Widow quietly said, as if they were in a crowded elevator. "Let your superiors handle it. Your workload is going to be lessened substantially. Your plan got approved. That's all that matters."

Amélie placed one hand on the back of Angela's head while the other applied the finishing touches to her lipgloss. Angela closed her eyes and tilted her head back slightly, exposing her neck.

There was something so tempting about Angela's form that made Widowmaker's insides beam and the butterflies in her stomach jitter. There was something so innocent and naive about her closed, oblivious eyes and angelic facial expression. Something inside Widow somewhat wanted to corrupt Angela, taint her heavenly outward demeanor.

Without missing a beat, Widowmaker tossed the gloss aside and planted several small kisses on Angela's neck.

"Amélie!" Angela gasped, throwing her head back even more. A euphoric sensation erupted throughout her entire body. Widow's lips were so cold, yet so enticing and refreshing. Angela balled her hands into a fist as she held onto the bedsheets. She closed her eyes as she listened to Amélie lightly graze her lips along the entire length of her sensitive neck. Angela removed one hand from the bed in order to lightly tug on Amélie's hair, pulling it towards the most sensitive spots of her neck.

Angela leveled her gaze with Amélie's, the womens' light panting filling the stuffy air. The tension in the room had finally been broken.

What just occurred didn't completely register in Angela's mind. All she knew was that she didn't want whatever was happening to ever stop.

She wrapped her arms around Widow's neck, kissing Amélie with an air of drivenness and fieriness.

Their thoughts had been going berserk the moments before they locked lips. But now, Angela and Amélie allowed themselves to fully immerse into the world of exultation and physical need.

Angela guided Widow's hands to her chest as she hotly panted. She pulled away from the kiss after a moment and fixated her eyes on Widow's face, whose eyes were still closed. Angela's strawberry gloss was smeared all over Amélie's lips.

"You're adorable," Mercy muttered, the tip of her index finger sensually gliding over Amélie's lips as she spread the gloss more evenly.

"You're hot as fuck," Widowmaker sleepily murmured back, tenderly fondling Mercy through the cloth of her button-up shirt.

Angela juxtaposed the licentious nature of Widow's remark with her gentle, affectionate touches, deciding that she found it incredibly alluring. She sighed as she relaxed in Widow's touch.

Angela knew that she needed to leave soon if she wanted to avoid an awkward confrontation with the morning guards. She also knew that she was breaking literally every ethic code listed in her handbook. Yet, she ignored her internal plea to stop and instead placed her hands on Widow's hips as she allowed Widow to caress her.

Widowmaker paused after a few moments, before she took her hands off of Angela and got up from the bed. Widow scrambled to her assigned seat right as one of the morning guards knocked on the door. "Lacroix. Coming in."

"Not yet!" Angela practically screamed, waving her hands desperately in the air.

"Doctor Ziegler?" One of the young guards incredulously asked, his voice muffled behind the door.

"Present. I'll- I'll permit you to enter in a few minutes," Angela said, attempting to control her heart rate and rapid breathing. She beckoned for Widow to go over to the bed, before they both began rapidly shoving the empty wine bottle and makeup back into Mercy's purse and suitcase. Widow licked the gloss off her lips just as Mercy finished hastily wiping her neck with her sleeve, before Angela opened the door.

Widow looked down at her nails on the chair, appearing as uninterested as ever when the guards greeted Angela.

"I'm sorry I didn't let you gentlemen know that I was going to do a routine checkup of her vitals at this time of the day," Angela said, looking down at her chest. "I'm not coming back until tomorrow for an extensive eye exam..."

Angela fell silent as she stood in the doorway, trying to subtly button up her shirt. She cleared her throat and crossed her arms across her chest, completely mortified.

The guards didn't seem to really notice that Angela's bra had been in the open just moments before. They didn't have time to further question the doctor as she adjusted her briefcase in her arms and scurried out into the hallway.

* * *

Angela checked her watch to the point of Lena noticing. "Got somewhere to be, love?"

"Oh… no," Angela said, biting her lower lip. Tracer perked an eyebrow as Angela continued, "If I'm being honest with myself, I just want to go to sleep. The meeting last night drained the life out of me."

"Fair enough. Want me to walk you back to your room?"

Angela wordlessly nodded, the events of the morning spinning in her mind, the sensations forcing her to shudder at random moments, the flurry of emotions whirling everywhere, anywhere, everywhere-

"How are things going?" Angela asked, wanting to get her mind off of herself.

"The usual. I'm visiting Em sometime next week. No major missions... yet. We may be heading an operation soon, supposedly in Spain. But, the details are as classified to me as they are to everyone else." Lena nudged Angela with her elbow lightly. "Heard you and Genji went on a date."

"Something like that," Angela said, too tired to deny it and call it a meetup.

"I swear, you two should just seal the deal already. Watching him swoon over you is like watching a helpless puppy."

Angela laughed, shrugging off the comment. "Thank you for taking me back."

Lena smiled. "No problem. Angie, I just wanna be clear that I'm just teasing ya two. I'm always here for whatever makes your heart content. And congrats on your plan being approved."

The women hugged in Angela's doorway, before Lena waved goodbye and left Mercy to suffocate in her rampaging thoughts.


	10. Chapter 10- Beat

Angela took her time lounging about in the cafeteria, before mindlessly picking up a blueberry muffin and sitting down next to Lena.

"Angie?" Lena vocalized, staring up at the fatigued woman. Angela bit into the muffin, wrapper and everything, as she deleted emails off her phone.

"Angieeee," Lena drawled, waving her hand in front of Angela's phone in order to grab her attention.

Mercy scanned Lena's face, before perking up. "Oh! Hi!" She chewed slowly, before pulling out the soggy muffin wrapper and hiding it inside her napkin.

"You feeling alright, love?"

Angela shrugged, picking at the dough of disappointment. "I guess."

Lena placed a hand on Mercy's shoulder. "I think you need a little break. I do, too. Whaddya say we call out for the day and do something fun?"

Angela took a sip of her coffee in contemplation, before saying, "Thanks for the offer, Lena. Unfortunately, I have... things to do."

Lena looked around the room, as if she was expecting someone to eavesdrop on them. "We always have things to do. At least lighten up a little before you tend to your doctorly duties."

"This place seriously needs to amp up their security measures," Angela sighed, casually popping the small capsule from Lena's hand into her mouth. "Why is it so easy to bring in this shit? Aren't you all searched?"

"Surprisingly, world class agents have ways of doing things on the DL. It's a low dosage. You'll feel it wear off in about three hours."

Angela wasn't one to take uppers before beginning work. However, after losing sleep for thinking about the stunt she pulled with Widowmaker, she figured she'd make an exception.

"Catch ya later, love," Tracer smiled, squeezing Angela's hand as she took both of their trays. "My offer to do something fun later on this week still stands."

* * *

Angela readjusted the collar of her shirt for the umpteenth time, before looking up at the digital clock. She was ten minutes late today. However, she didn't even remotely bother to hurry it up.

Angela pulled out her cellphone from her back pocket, which had been vibrating consistently over the past minute.

She took a look at the screen, before doing a frantic double take.

"Scheiße!" Angela exclaimed, before answering. "Department of Medical Research, Doctor Angela Ziegler on the other end."

"Afternoon, Doctor. Calling from Commander Jack Morrison's office suite number 7. Did you receive the forward regarding your upcoming meeting with Commander Morrison?"

"Oh!" Angela had no idea she even had a meeting with Morrison. She hadn't bothered to check her email over the weekend. "I'm afraid I haven't checked the details yet."

"Well, be sure to read the description before attending. You also haven't replied to the meeting confirmation, but I checked your schedule and noticed a conflicting appointment with Secretary Gonzalez. Would you like to reschedule your meeting with Commander Morrison?"

Angela had pulled up the meeting information while the secretary was speaking. "No, thank you. And I will cancel the appointment with Ms Gonzalez on my own accord. I'm confirming my attendance for Morrison's meeting right now."

Angela heard the secretary type something on a keyboard from the other end. "Perrrfect. We'll see you soon, Doctor Ziegler."

Angela skimmed over the details on her work tablet as she walked to Widowmaker's cell, before stopping dead in her tracks.

 _Section 2B- Confidential. Please input security code for access._

Angela hastily typed in her code, before scrolling through the endless pages of information.

She spotted a certain, yet all too familiar name as she sifted through the pages with her thumb. She scrolled back up, this time taking her time to read every word in the paragraph, before an underlying sense of apprehension began gnawing away at her stomach and chest.

 _Code 390J302O. Formal Debriefing of SUBJECT: AMÉLIE LACROIX Authorized._

Angela greeted the guards and watched as Widow was pulled out of the cell room.

Mercy walked fast, making it difficult for the guards to keep up with her. A different set of personnel opened the exam door for her, giving her enough time to make her way towards the desk before Widow entered the room.

The door shut behind Widow, leaving the women to engage in a one sided staring contest, with the clear winner being the ever-so-deadpan assassin.

Angela and Amélie cleared their throats in unison, breaking the stillness. "Amélie."

"Ziegler." The name rolled off Widowmaker's tongue like velvet, and Amélie looked Angela up and down with a certain apprehensiveness in her eyes. "Exam today? Let's finish that. Extract as much information from me. That's why I'm here, correct? In fact, why don't we move onto the interrogation part of my stay?"

It was disturbing how Widow managed to strike more fear in Angela than if she was just straight-out enraged. At least then her behavior would be predictable.

It was even more discomforting how Widowmaker could switch temperaments in the blink of an eye. When she was truly focused, _and she was focused_ , she thought about what disposition she would display to the onlooker. Lacroix was crafty- she didn't have to briefly reveal her seething lividness. She chose to.

It was like a ticking time bomb- only, you didn't have a reliable countdown and you weren't sure if it would even go off at all.

"You were informed of the interrogation?" Angela asked, standing still.

"I was also informed of who would be visiting me for the first set of questioning."

Angela was debating whether or not she should call for help before she was left completely frozen- and thus, completely at the mercy of Widowmaker.

Widow was far too experienced in her profession to sense what Angela was thinking. "Go ahead and call for backup. In fact, I'd rather your guards be in here when I vocalize my next set of opinions regarding your methods of debriefing."

That hit a nerve within Mercy. She straightened her posture, appearing more adamant and unmoving than ever. "Our methods of questioning don't warrant force."

"Really, now? That's certainly not what Maximilien has told me. And I have reason to believe that he's correct in his accusations."

Mercy bit the inside of her cheeks hard enough to draw blood. Now _that_ was a name she hadn't heard in a long time. "Torture is an extensive abuse of power that was never condoned nor tolerated."

"Officially."

"Who is questioning you?"

Widowmaker squinted as she examined Angela's facial expression. "You really don't know. Hmph."

Mercy opened up her tablet again, attempting to figure out the details regarding the debriefing. She found that the only information she had regarding the whole matter was that it had been sanctioned, perhaps from an Overwatch counsel. Angela had little way of finding out over the official authorization letter she had access to.

"You lot are so desperate for any amount of intel that your high and mighty Commander will be visiting me on his own accord before any of the official 'interrogators' come in to do their job," Widow announced after some time. "You... you... you played the bait. And I took it."

Widow was beyond the point of anger by now. Now, she was resorting to an old, yet very familiar habit. Desensitization.

"I didn't play the bait, Amélie!" Angela exclaimed, making her way around her desk. "But, I'm not going to play innocent either. Morrison hinted at interrogation. He asked me to pry for intel- which, for the record, he hasn't received. Nor will he, because I'm not planning on telling him anything I've learned about Talon. Or you. And you can bet on my life that Morrison would get a harsher reprimanding than you ever will if he even lays a finger on you. I care about your well-being over anything and anyone else."

"Why?" Both women were taken aback by Amélie's melancholy tone. A tone of defeat.

"Why? Because I'm falling in **_love_** with you, that's why!"

Amélie studied the doctor, attempting to make sense of the situation before her. She tried to convince herself that the reasoning behind the first interaction was due to some sort of sexual depravation. In some ways, it was.

Yet, everything had changed when Angela made the decision to kiss Amélie back. The sensations that drove them were deeper-rooted than words could ever explain, more complicated and diverged than simply a primal desire for sex and flesh.

" ** _Love_**? I know you're not that naive," Widow replied.

"And there it is! I knew you'd get defensive talking about this."

"I'm not so much defensive as I'm..." Angela leaned forward, balancing her weight on her palms that were resting on the desk. Widow struggled to find the correct adjective for her emotional fraught. "I don't know, okay?"

"You don't know or you don't want to admit to me how you feel?"

"I'm _scared_ , Angela."

"And you don't think I am?"

"Please. You're more impetuous than anything else."

"Fear is a form of choice. And I want my choices to reflect my hopes, not my fears. What type of choices are you willing to make?"

Widow had always relished in the small decisions she was allowed to make- where she wanted her mark to exactly hit, what she'd do between drop off and mission start, how she'd carry herself around others. She didn't fully realize that her desire for these moments was largely in part due to her otherwise lack of choice.

She didn't consider herself to be a prisoner when she was under Talon's command. But, if she wasn't a prisoner, why did true freedom seem so abstract and intangible- why was freedom a concept?

Amélie's stomach tightened as the impact of Angela's words hit her, before Amélie sat Angela down on the desk and drew her in for a kiss.

It was not an erotic, hungry exchange this time around. This one was pure and tender, with intentions that were completely loving and affectionate. Widow brushed her sprightly fingers over Angela's face. For a moment, she thought she could feel her heart skip a beat, before completely melting.

Whatever feelings that were brewing up inside of them weren't foreign and terrifying, but awe-inspiring and delicate.

They both knew the moment their lips touched that whatever doubts, however minute, they had regarding each other's emotional reciprocation were cleared. Nothing was so clear as day, so utterly unmistakable, than the fervor that emblazoned the surrounding space.

Angela ran the back of her hand lightly against Widow's neck as she began to relax in Widow's grasp.

Mercy paused, before placing the palm of her hand on Widowmaker's neck with slightly more pressure.

"What are you-" Widow began, before the foreignly-familiar fluttering drew her into a sensory overload.

She didn't imagine feeling her heart beat. Angela felt it too.


	11. Chapter 11- A Proposal

"I'll be honest, Angie! I'm really surprised- erm, very, super pleasantly surprised- that you cleared up some of your schedule for me!"

Lena beamed as she spoke and ate, satisfied with the fish and chips she had purchased locally.

Angela rarely had the chance to truly absorb the lively city she was working in. Los Angeles, from what she had already seen, definitely lived up to its long-held reputation of sprawling metropolis and entertainment galore. Despite being a few miles away from the epicenter of showbiz, there was always something going on, always people moving and crazing. The drone of the city wasn't completely unfamiliar- Angela was used to environments with a lot of noise.

However, the City of Angels, especially the surrounding outskirts of Hollywood, bore an artistic ambiance that was foreign to Angela. She also didn't really understand the presumption that the city lacked culture. It was one of the most diverse places she had ever been to; maybe, perhaps, the diversity contributed to the idea of the city not being culturally unified. One could argue, however, that the lack of a single common identity was a shaping factor of its cultural identity.

"Means I couldn't refuse your offer." Angela stole a fry from Lena's plate as she watched visitors and locals alike take leisurely strolls down the historic Santa Monica Pier.

"You are alright, though?" Lena asked, although unconcernedly. "I don't mean this as a backhanded compliment, Angie, but you're looking better than you have in weeks!"

"I feel better, too," Angela smiled. "At least, in certain aspects of my life."

"Anything in particular you want to vent to me about?"

Angela knew that she had to reveal as little information as possible when she spoke. She also knew that indulging in these types of conversations often led her to vocalize her feelings to the point of downright excessiveness, whether or not she was in a good or bad place. Angela wasn't sure if it was a risk she was willing to take for a peace of mind.

She convinced herself- erm, at least, _enough_ \- that she wouldn't fuck up to the point where she would disclose any information that would get her in deep trouble. Especially some sort of trouble regarding one specific eminent-tiered Talon operative.

All Angela managed to say was, "I feel different."

"The rash went away finally? I knew it was an iffy brand, but it worked for-"

"Not that feeling!" Angela exclaimed, turning her head around in order to make sure there were no bystanders within earshot. "Something different."

Lena knew Angela enough to get a sense of what she was suggesting. "Wait. What?! Who!? When?! Where!?"

"Easy, tiger-"

"Sorry, Angie! I don't mean to overwhelm you-" Lena slightly widened her eyes. "And it's not Genji," she concluded matter-of-factly.

"No. It's not Genji," Angela admitted, at least giving Lena that. "And before we start playing guessing games, you don't know the perpetrator."

"Well? Tell me about him!"

Angela dug her nails into her cup while she pondered. "Well... you see..." she stammered, prompting Lena to raise an eyebrow with an incredibly smug face.

As if the gods were watching Angela's interaction with secondhand embarrassment, a timely cosmic intervention appeared in the form of a phone call.

Angela pretended to be annoyed with the interruption as she sifted through her bag for her phone. "Department of Medical Research, Doctor Angela Ziegler on the other end."

Tracer sipped on her drink as she tuned out to Mercy's doctor lingo. Her attention was brought back to Mercy when she heard her stuff her phone back in her purse.

"Sorry about the interruption, Lena. Apparently, I have a meeting with Commander Morrison soon," Angela said, diverting her eyes away from Lena in apprehension. "He wants to talk to me about the program and its budget. Hopefully it'll be good news."

"Commander runs a tight ship when it comes to money, but it seems like the panel agreed with you on nearly every financial allocation. Just keep in mind what sectors you'd be willing to lower funds for."

"Sound observations," Angela agreed. "I think you account for half of my brain power at this point."

"Now that's something that's up for debate," Lena giggled. "Only sending good luck, alright?"

* * *

Angela cradled the coffee mug in her hands, her anxious eyes situated in no particular place as Jack Morrison signed off on her bills.

"Alright, Ziegler. Everything is all set. I'll send you confirmation letters throughout the remainder of the week."

"Thank you." Angela stopped in her tracks, before pulling out a file. "Oh, and while I'm here, I'll leave this in your mailbox."

"Is there anything else you would like to talk about before I send you on your way?"

"Actually..." Mercy began, before her voice trailed off. "It's about Lacroix."

Morrison began to place several files in a cabinet. "I'm listening."

"What is all this commotion about a formal interrogation? I was under the presumption that we- that _Overwatch_ was going to handle that matter on the down-low."

" _Overwatch_ had to make some compromises." Morrison shut the cabinet, before fully acknowledging Angela. "Everyone's on edge after Talon's little ransack on HQ. Now Talon has information that jeopardizes our future undertakings."

"And your method of retaliation is to weaponize Lacroix?"

"Lacroix may know things that can help us undermine Talon."

"Her vault is sealed."

"She'll crack. All of them do."

"Don't lay a finger on her," Angela scorned, her nails leaving marks on the wooden chair she was grasping. "I read the UN reports regarding Overwatch's human right abuse allegations. Down to the last word. Turning a blind eye on her interrogators and allowing another act of negligence is the last thing we need."

"And nothing of the sort will arise, Doctor. I'm more vigilant than ever."

"I'm glad we're on the same page. Why are you speaking to her before the official debriefers?"

"You weren't disclosed of my intent to visit."

"Amélie told me. Therefore, I was. I know your game, Jack. What will you will be offering in exchange for her compliance?"

Jack narrowed his eyes at Angela, before settling on a conclusion. "Some of my administrators are calling for Lacroix to be put on trial for her crimes. If the charges are compiled, she will have a very real chance of facing the death penalty. Most administrators, including yours truly, are against the idea. However, the minority is a very vocal one. If they get any rowdier, I won't have much say in the matter."

Angela lacked a response to his revelation. Any response. Morrison continued to speak, noting her trepidatious undertone. "The intel she possesses can change the course of her future fate."

Angela stifled a choke. "I see. Well, there's nothing else I need to discuss." She grabbed her binder and promptly left the room, in a rush to go somewhere she wouldn't be seen.

* * *

Commander Morrison wordlessly walked into the cell room, the guards saluting him briefly before shutting it airtight behind his rigid form.

"Lacroix," Morrison greeted, regarding her leg chains in distaste. Widowmaker expected his voice to sound the way it did- rough and worn down, like a working man's leather shoe. "How has Ziegler's research been?"

Silence. "Ziegler is very set on making sure your well-being is a top priority. Very." Morrison curled his calloused fingers around his chair as he continued. "What did you say- or do- to make her so adamant?"

Morrison carried that inquiry with certain implications. In interrogation settings such as this, the man wasn't the type to ask rhetorical questions. If he asked you a question, he expected an explicit answer, and then some.

Widow also caught onto Morrison's suspicions. Unlike many who pry for information, whether successfully or the latter, Morrison was the breed of man who wasn't simply pretending to know more about the situation than the respondent.

The question Widowmaker would now determine would be...

How much more did he know?

"Hmm. I don't know, _Commander_. Perhaps it is due to the nature of her work. She's one of the best in her field not because of her intellect, but because of the fact that she cares too much."

Commander Morrison smirked quizzically. "There has been speculation among the intelligence world that you have one of the highest singlehanded kill counts in the world. The number of confirmed solo kills recorded by us is 235, but I have been under the assumption that it's higher."

"Assumption is man's peculiar detriment, isn't it?"

The corners of Commander Morrison's mouth twitched. Morrison wasn't very unnerved by Widowmaker's demeanor. If he was offset by her calculated construing of words, he barely showed it. "I am here because I turn my assumptions into certainties. You are set to appear before the International Criminal Court for your war crimes. When convicted, you will be put to death."

Morrison eyed Widowmaker's poker-face, picking apart her nuanced expression. "Nothing?"

"The prospect comes with my work. I've always known it."

"How do you feel about it?"

"I don't."

"I had a proposal for you. One that would spare your life. But I don't suppose you would be very interested in it." Morrison leaned in closer to Widow, his elbows digging harshly into his thighs. "What would you be interested in?"

"Keeping Talon's intel away from the likes of you."

"We are referring to the organization that kidnapped you, murdered your husband, and abused you relentlessly, correct?"

"Backtrack a little, Commander. A proposal? What is it? A life sentence instead of an execution if I give up information?"

"You wouldn't appear in court at all."

"I'm not following."

"You would be put under a special protection program under a new callsign. You'd have full Overwatch protection and support. Widowmaker would officially be reported deceased. You'd be regarded with a clean slate. All I need are your skills and your compliance. Are you interested now?"

Widow felt like she was imagining this interaction. She assumed the same sitting position Morrison was in. "'Interested' is a multifaceted word. I see you incorporated my skills into the bargain as well."

"Your espionage skills are among the best in the world. Or they were at one point. And out of curiosity, how up to date is your marksmanship?"

"If you handed me a sniper rifle right now, my critical hit accuracy would be over ninety percent."

"You seem sure of yourself."

"It's not arrogance, it's confidence. It's well known that very few individuals can match me in execution. Many of the assassinations I've done are often credited to the wrong person. It means most of my work is untraceable."

"Untraceable..." Morrison repeated, rubbing his thumbs together in contemplation.

"You give me a name, and I'll give you a death, loud or unnoticed. It's as simple as that."

"Well, an expertise like that is unwanted in our organization. We are peacekeepers, not executioners."

Widow hummed. "Mmm. I know things that suggest otherwise, _Commander_. Regardless, my training in the covert arts allows me to offer services outside of premeditated murder."

"Indeed. I was thinking along the lines of interrogative and investigative work."

"If you can provide me work, I can provide enactment."

"I would also like you to continue to work with Doctor Ziegler. We've expended too many resources to simply halt her research."

"That's... fine."

Morrison momentarily narrowed his eyes as she spoke. "You have the rest of week to think of any compromises or terms on your end. Disclosing any information regarding the contents of this conversation will result in the agreement's termination. Expect me within the next few days with a written contract and more details."

"Until then."

Morrison outstretched his hand towards Widowmaker. She looked him in the eye for a a moment, stoic and advised, before shaking it.

"Commander," Widow called out as he turned around to leave. "May I make a request right now?"

* * *

Angela walked down the corridor at an uncomfortable pace. Her movements were impulsive, yet her mind remained wary.

The vehement flurrying of her heart came to a halt when she realized the door to Widow's cell was cracked open.

Angela's shaky hands gripped the cell door. She walked further into the room, her eyes adjusting to the darkness as she scanned her surroundings. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as she heard the door close behind her.

Widowmaker beat Angela to the lights situated near the middle of the room. "You're up early."

Mercy turned around rapidly. "Give me back the keycard, Amélie."

Angela crossed her arms as Amélie strode up to her and placed the card in her front shirt pocket.

Mercy shook her head disapprovingly. "How far did you truly think you were going to go? There are three levels of security in place- and that's just underground! You're classified as a shoot on sight!" Angela took the keycard out of her front pocket and opened her wallet in order to put it back. Angela did a double take when she saw that her keycard was left exactly where she last placed it.

"May I get my keycard back, _s'il vous plait_?"

Angela eyed Amélie, not entirely used to seeing her in nightwear with her hair down. A green flash forced Angela to look down at Widow's ankles, which had several black bracelets wrapped around them.

"Your commander permitted me to have some access to this floor of the building. Of course, with a few... boundaries. And within a specific time period."

"You two came to an agreement?"

"I can't delve into any specifics right now."

"What's going to happen to you?"

Amélie could sense the urgency in Mercy's voice. "I'm going to be okay."

Angela sighed. "Was he patronizing?"

"So inquisitive."

"I'm just worried about you!"

"I'm sorry. I appreciate the concern, mon Ange. But, I have a feeling that everything will turn out just fine. Just know that your commander and I are on similar terms." Widow clutched Angela's hand in reassurance. "He has a goal, and I have the aim. Here, let me help you with these." Mercy allowed her to take her belongings and place them elsewhere.

"How familiar are you with this floor?" Amélie asked.

"I know where the cells are, and that's about it. I don't go to this building, nor do I venture underground, very often."

"You aren't missing much. But..." Widow looked past Angela as she thought. "I discovered a room that doesn't seem to have any particular function nowadays. And it reminded me of something. Maybe I can show it to you when you have the time."

"Luckily for us, I have time," Angela smiled cheerily. "Where's this mystery room?"


End file.
